My Secret Yesterday
by cazh
Summary: This is for all the people who want a happy ending. I love you all.
1. Chapter 1

My Secret Yesterday

Disclaimer: I did not create these characters.

This story takes place after the events of Hostage but before the death of Sam Noonan, Kitty's faithful bartender.

Kitty brooded on the events of the last few hours. It would be easy if they'd never occurred, but that, she knew, was beyond her control now. It didn't matter that she'd missed those clues at their first meeting in the Long Branch: slender fingers that grasped a shot glass much too daintily; the voice only a hint higher in pitch than her own; the smoothness of the face that looked like it hadn't ever felt a razor; the bright, dark blue eyes with the lighter flecks that danced when caught in the wavering light of the oil lamps; the short steps with a lightness as his feet touched the floor; the thin, rust colored eyebrows. But the thing she'd noticed most of all was the smile the young man gave her. It was familiar.

Everything came together in Doc's office, as the youth lay unconscious on the old healer's examining table.

The thick, curly, copper colored hair had been hidden securely under the big hat. Released, it was obvious the young man was a young woman. Doc cast her a surprised look before unfastening the buttons of his patient's shirt. Another shock grabbed then both when they saw the strips of undyed linen binding the woman's breasts tightly to her chest.

At that very moment Kitty Russell both dreaded and anticipated Doc's next move.

With a blunt scissors in his right hand, Doc Adams neatly sliced the linen and pulled the two ends apart to reveal what both he and she knew lay beneath. Two pink tipped breasts, wrinkles deeply ingrained, lay exposed.

Kitty hadn't heard it, yet she knew she must have done something to take Galen Adams' full attention from his patient.

The true identity of the young woman lay before her, out in the open, just like the secret she'd kept for eighteen years: the heart shaped port wine birthmark just above the girl's right breast.

Kitty Russell's well-spun net of concealment now had one huge hole in it. Her seventeen-year-old secret was here in Dodge City.

Kitty pushed aside her own feelings of apprehension to brush a hand across Kate's soft cheek. The girl whimpered with unconscious pain and pressed into Kitty's hand like a newborn craving the touch of its mother. At that point, Kitty lost her fight to control the ever mounting swell of past decisions and visibly and audibly let the tears and the ragged gasps of air escape.

"We've known each other a long time, Kitty."

His words were gentle, the tone he used to convey both the love and concern he felt toward his close friend. His hand on her shoulder was a reassuring reminder of his physical presence, as well.

Yes, they'd known each other for a good period of time. She watched him trundle to the small black stove and pour two mugs of coffee. She took the offered cup, sure that he caught the obvious tremor in her hand as she grasped it.

"Do you want to tell me something?"

Time seemed frozen in spite of the ticking of the rose wood framed clock that hung on the wall above his desk.

The sharp tang of disinfectant mingled with the smell of blood. Kate's blood.

"Not yet."

Another gentle pat on her arm declared louder than any words ever could, his acceptance of her decision. He was, for this very reason, her dearest and closest friend. He wouldn't push; he'd simply put the matter aside and wait until she was ready to talk.

Kitty did feel a bit sorry for the man. She had no idea just when she would find the words to tell him about Kate.

"I'll get her cleaned up and then I'll need to keep a close eye on her for a few days." He took off the silver rimmed spectacles and laid them beside the bowl of bloodied water that held the extracted bullet. "She'll need time to mend. But she's young."

"As soon as she's able to be moved," Kitty spoke in a carefully controlled whisper, "I've got a room for her at my place."

Those 'why does this not surprise me' pale blue eyes of Doc's teamed with questions.

His thoughts were obvious. Two redheads with deep blue eyes in the same room at the same time; the probability was not too out of the realm of possibility. But two blue-eyed redheads who looked so much alike. That was another matter altogether. She'd seen his conundrum as he looked from Kate to herself more than a few times in the course of tending the bullet wound in Kate's side.

He swiped his thick-fingered hand across his nose. "Matt will need to know that a great deception was successfully carried off on the good citizens of Dodge City."

_A great deception._ Doc had no idea of the true depth of his words.

"Are you alright, Kitty?"

For the third time in as many hours, Kitty Russell lied. "Yes. I am."

The first and second times had been to Matt Dillon; one inside the saloon next to the stain of Kate's blood, the other on the boardwalk just before her nagging suspicions forced her to come up to Doc's office to check on the young man.

Doc sniffed and shook his head. "I don't believe that, Kitty. Not for a second."

He was right.

"She'll be out for at least sixteen hours. Why don't you go back to your room and get some rest."

_No._ "I can't leave her, Doc."

The calmness in which she delivered those five words was diametrically opposed to the way she felt inside both her mind and her heart.

Two red heads. Doc puzzled over it now, just as he'd done the previous night. The only difference being that he was walking in the direction of the marshal's office. Those two women could be sisters, they looked so much alike. But Kitty's reaction, he shook his head negatively, just wasn't right for that.

He had another thought. This one nagged at him no matter how hard he tried to keep it pushed down.

Doc found Matt Dillon on the street side of the Long Branch swinging doors with his left hand resting on one of the bat wings. He was searching the inside of the saloon.

"Well, you going in or what?" Doc knew full well that if a certain carrot haired female saloon owner were in sight, the marshal would have those doors swinging. "Kitty's with my patient." He felt obligated to put the leggy man out of his misery.

Doc waited as the six foot seven man peered down on him as if weighing a decision of grave importance.

"Well good morning to you too."

Doc could hear just a subtle hint of irritation in the lawman's strong voice.

"I repeat," Doc craned his neck as he looked up at Matt Dillon. He made sure he held his bottom jaw firmly jutted out to show that he wasn't in any mood for either jokes or threats, "are you coming or going?"

If Matt Dillon was in any way annoyed or intimidated, and that was highly unlikely anyway, he didn't show it. "How's the boy doing? He ready to talk yet?"

Doc tugged at his left earlobe. "My patient will be fine but you need to wait on the questioning." Doc congratulated himself on his skill at speaking the truth but not the whole truth. "How'd it go out at Wentworth's last night?"

Matt's azure blue eyes scrutinized the toes of his booted feet before answering. "Well," he started slowly, "he wants more information. Wants to hear," Matt finally looked at Doc, a resigned expression on his face, "it from the kid himself."

"Don't think he'd hurt the kid, do you?"

Matt responded with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "He's pretty shook up. Jake was supposed to take over this year."

Doc's hand swiped slowly across his more salt than pepper shaded mustache. "Yup. Gotta feel bad for the old man, loosin his only boy like that. Gotta hurt."

Doc wondered if the grief the old man felt would intensify or ease up when he found out the true gender of the person who killed his son.

"Say, Doc, how long before the boy can be moved?"

Doc wondered how the marshal would take the same news that waited for old man Wentworth. "By the end of the day. Kitty's got a room."

Doc didn't have to wait long before the marshal's bushy eyebrows knit together into on straight line and the man's head jerked back in surprise.

"Didn't see that one coming."

Another thought passed silently through Doc's overactive mind. It just could be that more things were coming down the pike when it concerned this cross dressing young woman named Kate. But he'd have to be patient and wait until his dear friend Kitty Russell was ready to talk. Could be a while. Kitty could be pretty dog-goned tightlipped when she wanted to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Kate

Spoilers: Mannon, Hostage, Kitty Shot—implied only

Disclaimers: The characters of Matt, Kitty, and Doc are not my creations. Miss Kate is.

The shadows cast by the six tall, floral patterned oil lamps fluttered in much the same way as Kitty's stomach as she paced the distance between her private suites of rooms above the Long Branch.

Even the shot of twenty-year-old brandy didn't quell her discomfort as the impending confrontation drew closer with each passing minute.

Kitty Russell was in a rare state of panic. And she was smart enough to realize it.

Did Kate remember?

How much?

What were Kate's feelings?

Then, worst of all, was the clinging matter of her guilt.

Why had Kate appeared in the saloon?

Why was she dressed as a man, complete with big hat and low-slung, fast-draw holster?

One question led to the next until they'd gone full circle. So many questions. So many needed answers.

The knock on the door shattered her immediate thoughts.

"Kitty."

Matt's strong voice.

"Open the door."

Kate was still and small against his broad chest and wide shoulders, no more than a rag doll as he carried her to the guest bedroom. Doc followed behind, two heads shorter with a stride nowhere near that of the Marshal's.

Matt laid the red headed girl on the bed with a great amount of attention to gentleness. Kitty wasn't surprised. Matt had the capacity for great tenderness.

"You and Doc got some serious explaining to do." Matt straightened and glared from Doc to Kitty.

"I know," Doc started, no hint of contrition in his voice as he felt Kate's pulse, "but I, we," he glanced quickly Kitty, "didn't want the general public to know the boy was really a young woman." He patted the hand he'd just released. "Still can't believe it myself." His shallow crowned hat bounced from side to side as he shook his head. "Never saw anything like it."

Kitty busied her hands and pulled the white bed sheet over the pale orange nightgown Kate wore. It was one of her's and added just a hint of color to the girl's wan face.

"Kitty," Matt stood close, "do you know her?"

She felt the heat of his body but thought only of the possible answers to his question.

She could lie. Again.

She could say yes and get it over with.

She could keep her words to herself.

"Well," Matt said after a reasonable amount of time had passed, "I gotta make rounds. I'll be back in the morning and talk with her then."

"I see what you mean, Doc." Matt paused on the third step from the top of the back landing so he could talk face to face with his old friend.

"Yup. Something's going on there. She hasn't been right since that kid got shot." Doc combed through his bristly mustache with his fat fingers.

A moment of quiet passed between the two men. Comfortable silence. They didn't need to fill the time with idle chatter.

"I'll stay with them for a while. Good night, Matt."

Doc watched Matt descend the rest of the outside staircase and disappear into the alley that separated this block from the one that housed his second floor office. He'd not asked why Matt Dillon was so familiar with the inside of Kitty's private living space. He didn't have to.

On those sleepless nights he had way too many of as he got older, he often observed Matt climbing these very steps. Not that he was a voyeur, he just happened to be looking out his window. Then there were those nights when Kitty's lights stayed on after midnight. He couldn't help it that his window overlooked hers, seen the big man's silhouette.

It didn't surprise him in the least when Matt extracted a key to Kitty's back door as if it were the most natural thing in the world to have in his pocket.

Kitty fairly withered with Doc's intense examination, felt his plea for answers without a word being spoken aloud. Doc had that way about him and right now he was making her down right uncomfortable. Well, he was just adding to an already uncomfortable situation.

"Kitty," his quiet tone was apologetic, "I know I promised I wouldn't push you, but you gotta talk or this is gonna eat you alive."

The old man with the sun browned face tossed his worn and dusty hat on the hook of the corner hall tree.

For an eternity of time, or so it seemed, Kitty felt his careful registering of her every breathe, her every subtle movement. Could he see, she wondered, her lifetime of joys and hardships? The consequences of actions? Her regrets?

Kitty managed to give her old friend and mentor a faint semblance of a smile.

"I haven't seen her in four years." She stood, still feeling the weight of Doc's passionate contemplation. "She's changed, become a woman."

Was she ready? She didn't think so. Her life was already changed and drastically so, by Kate's physical presence. She felt Doc's need to know, his desire to understand her actions. She was his friend and she was worrying him.

"I'd like you to meet," she took a deep cleansing breath of air and freed the words behind her behavior, "Kathryn. My daughter."

Wide open, round eyes, a quick blink, a slack jaw.

"Kind of figured." Doc's composure was back as quickly as he'd lost it. "You know I never pried into your personal life, just let you tell me what you wanted me to know." Doc tugged on his ear lobe and looked anywhere and everywhere but at his friend.

"You old fox." She felt the lifting, if only a little, of her nervousness. At least one other person in Dodge City knew her secret, even if it was only part of it. "Bet you want to know how old she is and who her father is, right?" Kitty offered the man a challenge to be truthful.

Doc gave her a blank stare. "Can't help but wonder."

"She's seventeen. And yes," she waited, made the first two words separate from the last two, "she's Matt's."

The doctor struggled to the thickly padded chair in the corner of the room, the meaning of Kitty's words heavy on his old body.

Her secret lay more exposed now. There was still more to tell.

"After I bought half interest in the Long Branch I didn't take but one cowboy into my bed." She thought back to the intensity of her relationship with the young Matt Dillon. He would have dealt with her chosen profession; but she couldn't. "I had my own income and I didn't have to do the rest. And I certainly didn't want to."

No after knowing Matt Dillon wanted her.

Doc's breathing and color returned to normal. "Why'd you keep it a secret?"

_Why indeed?_

Kitty tidied the log cabin quilt with its various shades and patterns of yellows and browns while searching for just the right words.

"You don't force something like this on a man like Matt Dillon. We were serious, no doubt about it," she touched Kate's cheek, "but I always knew it wouldn't be wise to burden him with a family, a wife. You know how he is. That would have been too much baggage to carry along with the big badge of his."

If she were courageous enough to tell the rest, she'd have to admit to a fear of which Matt Dillon would have chosen: a wife and family or his badge. She wasn't brave enough to test it.

Kitty knelt in front of her best friend and mentor and reached to cradle his stubbly face within her hands. She hoped he could see the desperation of a situation so many years before.

"But I loved that man then, just like I do now. Matt Dillon's child would have a chance at life. One day I always hoped that Matt and I would be a part of it."

Tears rolled freely down Doc's cheeks. "Matt has no idea." He said the words like the fact it was.

"No."

"Things are different now, Kitty." He nodded to the young woman on the bed. "Matt's got a right to know."

She laid her head on his bony knees and felt the reassuring caress of his hand on her shoulder.

"I'll keep your secret."

"Thanks, Curly." She hadn't called him that in ages. It brought back the image of a much younger man with a smoother face and darker hair. Time passed by quickly.

She felt Doc suddenly fill with energy.

"First I couldn't believe he was a she, now I have a hard time imagining you keeping a secret like this for so long. I just can't believe it."

"I didn't have much of a choice." Kitty was still serious.

"No, I suppose not, especially if you wanted to stay with that stubborn galoot of a marshal."

And that was it. She gave life to Matt's child but chose to give that child away to stay with the man she loved.

"Do you think she knows?"

Kitty nodded.

"I sure don't envy your position. I'll stay with her if you want to go downstairs."

"No, Doc. I've spent too much time away from her already. And when she wakes," an all too familiar shiver of trepidation meandered coldly down her spine, "we're going to a lot to talk about."

"He's a nice man, Mamma."

Her daughter's voice may have been small and weak but the word _mamma_ came out like a foul taste. Kitty's resolve needed the doorframe for support and a grand effort to look into her daughter's alert face.

"Yes, yes he is." She felt her bottom lip quiver. "He's been a very good friend of mine as long as I've been in Dodge City. So," she compelled herself to stand on her own, "how long have you been awake?"

Kate's attempt at a laugh brought a groan of pain. "Long enough to learn a whole lot of things."

"Like who your father is?"

A familiar smile crossed Kate's pale lips. "He's a big man, my Daddy."

"In more ways than one. I'm sorry, Kate," Kitty chided herself for forgetting her manners, "how are you feeling?"

"I'll live."

"That's what Doc said."

Kate's dark blue eyes were watching Kitty's every move. Kitty wasn't certain, but she thought she saw a hint of anger that matched the venom of the word _mamma_.

"How'd you find me?"

"It wasn't hard." Kate turned toward the heavy curtains that framed the window, away from Kitty.

Perhaps Kate wanted to escape as much as she did.

"Well," Kitty came closer to the edge of the bed, "inform me."

Kate turned back to examine the soft shiny taffeta skirt, moved up from the sunshine orange to the white bodice and long sleeves, to finally rest on Kitty's meticulously painted face and flaming red hair.

Kitty accepted the perusal and ignored the judgment that lay behind the child's eyes.

"Mamma Martha sips too much brandy when she gets upset. Then that tongue of hers gets real loose." A challenge and a threat lay behind those words.

"She didn't like what you did, leaving me for her to raise with her family, only seeing me once in a great while."

Kate used her arms to attempt to raise her upper body to a sitting position.

"Don't think you should be doing that." Kitty put a hand on either side of Kate's shoulders and lightly pushed her back down to the mattress.

"Don't get protective of me now, Kathleen."

The sharpness of those words sliced through Kitty's frail façade of strength and she pulled her hands away as if Kate were a hot coal.

"Mamma Martha did like the money you sent." Kate lifted an unplucked eyebrow. "Came in handy when Daddy Conner started taking up with the whores at the Silver Palace."

"But I thought…"

Kate stared at the ceiling. "Conner, rich man, poor father. He hits her."

"I had no idea."

"Well, that's not surprising, you didn't come around enough to notice and Martha surely wouldn't write about that kind of thing in her letters. She being so proper and all."

Kitty had another reason to regret her seventeen-year-old decision. Perhaps she'd been blinded by her own need, her desperation to place her daughter with married friends that lived as far from Dodge City and Matt Dillon as possible; oblivious to the consequences.

Kitty really wanted to escape through any of the doors to the safety of a room full of anonymous drunk and rowdy cowboys. They'd be infinitely easier to deal with than this blunt-tongued daughter of hers.

Even if Kate was speaking the truth.

But then she'd be leaving. Again. Running out. And with no greater reason than her cowardice.

_No._ She'd stay and follow through on whatever was going to come out of the child's mouth.

"How'd you find me?" Kitty asked once more with just a modicum of control.

Expressionless, Kate continued. "I always knew I didn't belong to them. No redheads anywhere in that family. They always treated me differently, not bad, just different."

The fingers of Kate's hands joined over her stomach and worked against each other matting the yellow quilt between them. She looked at Kitty, her face still unfriendly.

"And those few times when you came Martha and Conner would fade away and it would be just you and me."

Kitty saw the slight movement in Kate's lower lip.

"You smiled so nice, had the same hair as mine. You bought me, only me, nice things. You were so much fun."

Kate's voice cracked and she forced her words through clenched teeth.

"I hated to see you go. And then you just never came back."

Kate's eyes were sad. Moist.

Kitty took one of Kate's hands in her own without hesitation, pleased that Kate did not recoil from her touch.

"Then," Kate continued, "there was the time Martha forbade me to go to a party. Didn't approve because it wasn't the proper thing for a respectable lady of good breeding to do."

The sarcasm on the words 'good breeding' was not lost on Kitty.

"Said if I went," she met her mother's blue eyes, "I'd turn out just like my fancy Aunt Kathleen."

_Kathleen._

The guilt kept piling up. Some of Kate's words were hits of excruciating pain aimed directly at her heart. Kitty knew she should say something. Anything. But no words could be the right ones.

A careful shrug and Kate went on. "I did Martha one better. I went to that party and I never went home again. I've been on my own for five months."

Memories, mostly bad, flooded Kitty's recollection of her own similar independence at Kate's age. The decisions she'd been forced to make bordered on survival. When the hunger got too bad she offered the one thing men would pay her for. She wanted to ask Kate if she'd done the same, but, really, she couldn't stand to know. There was a limit to how much she could handle, be responsible for.

"Martha never said anything about that in her letters."

"I'm sure she didn't." Another one of those smug looks followed. "Wouldn't want to jeopardize that extra income. Oh, that's how I knew where you were. The letters from my Aunt Kathleen."

Kate threw off the covers and swung her feet to the floor as she sat on the edge of the bed. Kitty's hand kept the dizzy girl from pitching one way or the other until the room stopped spinning. Kate followed Kitty's hand to her arm, to her shoulder, until she was looking into the near image of herself.

"Why didn't you come back?"

Kitty circled her daughter with her arms and held her close. Where would she begin? At the beginning when she was young and desperate? Or at the end when one bad situation led into another?

"I just couldn't. We'll talk about, but not now." Kitty took a thick strand of Kate's red gold hair and twirled it in her fingers. "There was never a day that I didn't think of you. Wonder," she kissed Kate's forehead, "what you were doing. How you were."

Kitty felt Kate's body relax, meld into her own. She wondered about the future she would have with a child she barely knew.

The slow rumble of an empty stomach broke the silence.

"You're hungry."

"Mmm."

"We'll just have to do something about that. Are you ready to sit in that chair?"

A nod of agreement then came the question, "Have you ever been shot?"

"Twice."

One of those bullet wounds still ached and when it did it brought back the frightful faces of a pack of human animals. The other? Simply the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"What are you thinking?"

Kitty was thinking too much about one single scenario. She'd given Kate a secure life, even if it was away from her parents, away from the enemies of Matt Dillon.

Things had changed, just like Doc said.

Soon Matt would have two women in his already complicated life, two women who bore an uncanny resemblance to one another. How many others would find out, seek to capitalize on it. Revenge was a strong motivator.

"Let's get you into that chair." Kitty forced the unpleasant thought away. For the moment.

Kitty put both her hands on Kate's cheeks and kissed her again. How had she been able to put this child into another woman's arms and walk away?


	3. Chapter 3

The Father's Daughter

The main floor was standing room only but what drew Kitty's attention as she stood on the balcony over looking the mass of masculinity was the large, dark stain near the foot rail of the bar. Sam had done his best, but she knew from past experience, that blood had a way of seeping into the dry, porous, unfinished wood of the Long Branch floor and no amount of scrubbing could obliterate it.

But this was Kate's blood. Until the scuffle of boots and fine earth wore the stain into a memory, it would serve as a powerful reminder of what she might have lost.

Gamblers, cowpokes, townsmen, dirt farmers and ranchers watched her descend the steps. She was used to their stares. Some, those who were knew to Dodge City, looked and examined much longer than the locals who simply raised their steins of frothy beer or the short glasses of whiskey to the Lady of the Long Branch.

She smiled, met their gaze with her own, but didn't stop to chat. Not tonight. She had other, more pressing business, to attend to.

She paused on the boardwalk just outside the Long Branch to enjoy the fresh air. She'd done exactly the same thing, in the very same spot, the previous night before continuing up to Doc's office to put her nagging suspicions to rest.

"Kitty."

She was startled, Matt was standing close to her, and she hadn't heard his footsteps.

"You're pretty deep in thought there, Kitty."

His boyish smile made him look innocent.

"Sorry, Matt. It's good to get some fresh air."

"I'm gonna ask you again, Kitty, cause I don't think you're being truthful with me, are you alright? You just don't seem yourself."

He was as frustrated with her unusual behavior as Doc had been. His pale blue eyes searched for some kind of explanation.

Kitty couldn't very well tell him it was because her daughter was in town. Had almost been killed. And in her saloon.

His daughter, too.

"Just tired."

Another lie.

"I'm going to DelMonico's, get some broth for Kate."

"Hmm. She has a name. What's her last name?"

"Matt, I have to get back to her." And then, as an after thought, "Are you coming with me?"

She walked on, giving him the option of accompanying her. A few steps later she was glad he was not beside her.

Both Doc and Matt were in Kate's room, a fact Kitty wasn't prepared for.

"Just checking on my patient, Kitty."

Doc covered for both her lack of words and her bewildered look. Bless his old soul.

Kitty set the rose patterned tureen on the small lace covered table next to the overstuffed chair that surrounded Kate within its soft arms.

"Kathryn DuPruis," Matt rolled the consonants and vowels off his tongue, enjoying their taste. "Pretty name. Kitty tells me you answer to Kate, also."

Kitty couldn't help but see the familiar smile Kate leisurely tossed Matt's way. Last night, that same smile caused her to wonder where she'd seen it before. It was her father's smile.

"Chicken broth," Kitty ladled from the larger container into a fine Japanese porcelain bowl. The steaming liquid instantly filled the room with flavorful aroma. "Good for what ails, ya. Right, Doc?"

Kate's left cheek distorted into grimace of pain. "I'm so hungry. But, Miss Kitty, I could sure use a good stiff shot of whiskey to go along with that soup." Kate touched her side; "Keep this annoying pain from biting me."

"I can provide that, also. But I seem to recall from last night, that you," she raised the question, "didn't particularly care for whiskey."

A conciliatory nod. "But I'm after the effect, not the taste."

"Well said, young lady."

The good friends, plus one new one, joined together in laughter, Doc's simple statement leading the way.

Kate soundlessly sipped her soup and Kitty had the thought that at least Martha taught her some manners. A rarity this far west.

Matt watched Kate, his brow creasing between his bushy eyebrows. Then he turned toward Kitty. He repeated this move a good number of times and Kitty knew, then, the observant man had noticed the similarity between the two redheads.

"I have to ask and I know Doc's thinking the same thing," Matt started almost apologetically while holding his had in his hands, "why does a pretty gal like you go around dressed as a man?"

Kate's spoon clinked the demise of the soup and she set the bowl on the table beside her. "Marshal," Kate began with a full scan of Matt's seated body from weather-worn ruggedly handsome face to the broad, muscular shoulders, to the lean hips, to the long, thin legs, and finally, the big feet.

Matt passed his hat from one hand to the other and had trouble meeting Kate's intense blue eyes.

"At times it is a disadvantage to be a young female in the presence of both younger and older males who may not possess even a fundamental knowledge of manners, Marshal," Kate nodded for Kitty to refill her bowl and lifted the spoon to her lips, sipped without a sound, then returned the spoon quietly to the bowl, "I have been propositioned for unspeakable and disgusting acts, offered vast and meager sums of money for carnal favors, and been the object of undesired touching for the simple fact of my gender. What, sir, is a lady, traveling alone, supposed to do?"

Doc and Matt eased forward on their chairs, intent on every subtle motion, every word that passed her lips.

"Men," Kate continued with less of a smile and a stronger, less accented tone of voice, "certainly are not the victims of such lascivious treatment. Nor do men," she lowered her voice to one of disgust, "treat each other with such a glowing lack of respect. Marshal," she glared, met Matt's eyes blue to blue, and didn't blink, "I took my cue from my own lively imagination. To be a man, I walked freely. And," she increased her intensity even more, "I intend to do so again, unless," she leveled a challenge at the now squirming law man, "there is some law prohibiting me from doing so."

Doc's mouth opened but words didn't follow. He winked at Kitty instead.

Matt stood too fast, moved toward the door with long strides. He paused, his hand on the doorknob as he, once more, looked from Kate to Kitty. "Doc, I think we're in trouble."

A loud snort escaped the old man's mouth as he swiped his mustache, a twinkle of outright delight on his face. "Now whatever gave you that idea?"

"I'll see you tomorrow, young lady."

"You bet you will." Kate didn't back down even when the 6'7" marshal towered over her.

"I do believe, Miss Kate," Doc spoke after Matt successfully escaped Kate's unblinking stare, "that you have Marshal Matt Dillon speechless."

A moment passed when only the sound of the revelry in the saloon below, could be heard.

"Don't you mean my daddy?"

Doc's joviality fell on the floor along with his smile.

"She was awake when you brought her over here," Kitty explained.

"Her smile is just like Matt's."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," Kate spoke with anger.

Kate attempted to stand, succeeded, and took four steps to her bed and sat.

"Kitty, it looks awfully busy downstairs. My offer still stands, I'll stay with Kate until she falls asleep."

Without a moment's hesitation, Kitty said, "I believe I'll take you up on that offer now, Doc."

Kitty touched the back of Kate's hand with her own then kissed Doc on the forehead and cheek.

Kate slumped sideways on the bed as soon as the latch of the door closed behind Kitty.

"Tough putting on that little performance."

"Performance?"

"Don't play dumb with me, missy. I saw through your little act."

"You don't know anything about me."

"That's partially true. But I'd like to get to know the real you, just like your mother would."

"My mother," she spat. "I grew up with visits from my fancy Aunt Kathleen."

"Hmmm," Doc puzzled, "couldn't have been too many visits, Kitty only went to New Orleans four or five times since I've known her."

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe she doesn't want to get to know me?"

Speechless, not because of the bitterness of Kate's words, but from the conundrum of how to explain his dear friend's absence in her child's life, Doc ignored the anger.

"Last time I saw her was four years ago." Kate's body shrank, seemed to pull into itself for protection. "Then she just stopped coming."

Doc lifted her feet into the bed and covered her with the bed sheet and quilt. Four years. Kate had no way of knowing the effects Mannon, or worse yet, Jude Bonner, had on the life of one Kitty Russell.

"Well, Kate DuPruis Russell Dillon, you've got a lot to learn about your mother."

"I'm making my list: why mamma dumped me, why mamma stopped coming to see me, why mamma left me with those awful people." Tears welled in her eyes and the overflow left wet trails down her cheeks to fall on the pillowcase.

Doc sat on the edge of the bed and put his hand on Kate's arm. "Can't go into all this tonight. Too complicated. Your first question I can take care of and you really don't need me to explain that to you. A woman, not married, saloon woman." Doc wiped the tears from her cheek with his a fat thumb. "A saloon is no place to raise a child. Your mother knew that. Couldn't manage to see any better way at the time."

"I know she loves me, loves that big ox of a father of mine, too."

Doc pulled his right earlobe and grinned. "Picked up on that, did ya? The rest of your questions will have to wait. Seems to me, young lady," Doc stood, "you were asking for a shot of whiskey and I know just where your mother keeps the good stuff."

"I'll bet you know a lot about my mother."

"Yes, yes I do. But you know, Kate," Doc walked on stiff knees to the doorway between rooms and paused to look back at Kate, "I still keep learning things about her. Like you," his voice took on a soft tone, "she never said a word that she was expecting you. Never told a soul here in Dodge. And I consider myself a dog gone good friend of hers."

He shook his head. "Amazing woman, your mother. And I know why she did it that way, too."

By the time he got back into Kate's room she was sound asleep. He downed the whiskey himself. Good stuff to quell the ache in his old bones and give him a start on the fortitude he'd need to explain all the other questions on Kate's list. He felt her pulse, felt her forehead, then starred down at her. The spitting image of her mother. And a personality to match. He felt the tears building inside him, again.

He'd have to fill Kate in on all the nasty and sordid details of the last few years in the lives of her parents. She needed to know to appreciate the kind of resilient stock she came from. Why her parents never married but, even now, they were a couple. Some of the those things would hurt like hell to tell, but, judging by Kate's depth of emotion, they'd be much worse to hear. But he figured the daughter of Kitty Russell and Matt Dillon had the same measure of strength as her parents.

He managed a chuckle as he went down the bar room stairs. Kitty was busy and didn't notice him. Kitty Russell kept a secret for 18 years and would have kept it longer if the secret hadn't wound up on her bar room floor one hot night in August.

Life in Dodge City sure wasn't dull.


	4. Chapter 4

Royal Flush

Chapter 4

Zach Slaughter wanted to push the intrusive, filthy child off the depot platform and into the path of the heavy feet of the draft horses. Of all the vile scum of the earth he'd had to endure on his journey from Memphis, this urchin topped the list. Reeking men, bawling women, and their abrasive whelps left a stench in his nose and mouth that would take a week to clear.

He paused on the platform while the others swept around him on their way to nowhere. He needed a moment to envisage her face. Even this spec of dirt on the edge of the west called Springfield, Missouri, was tolerable when he thought of her.

The clerk at the Springfield House was more than gracious in seeing that he had a quiet room, clean sheets and towels, and hot water to soak the grime of people and train off his body. But what the accommodating man did best, when asked, was name two of the very best saloons with gambling parlors. Zach still recalled the wide-eyed appreciation the eagle brought to the dowdy man's fleshy face.

It didn't take much to please these yokels.

He strolled the boardwalks now, searching for the lithe young body, the fresh innocence of her pale features, and the red hair. He saw only henna and unfamiliar faces.

The Alhambra was his second stop. The outside of the two-story building rippled along the street. Embedded squares of red and black glass glistened on the swinging doors. Diamond shaped, the four street side windows had stained blood red and soot black glass squares safely protected behind slender bars of iron. The gaudy bits of glass caught the reflection of every moving thing on the street.

The inside was a gullet of deep scarlet with reflections from red brocade walls and two massive, candlelit chandeliers. Intricately carved grape vines decorated the imposing thirty-foot walnut bar. Brunswick. Even the polished spittoons glowed a clean, rich shade of red.

If she were anywhere, it would be here.

"Beer."

A twitch of a mustache was the only acknowledgement the immaculately attired bartender gave before he placed a well-headed draft on the slickly polished bar. Zach weaved a shiny nickel between the fingers of his right hand.

"Seen a young red-headed gal, blue eyes?"

The bartender watched Zach's fingers, mesmerized by the silver coin. "A week back. Hired on as a beer shuffler and dealer. None of the other stuff." He nodded his head toward the upstairs balcony with the dozen narrow doors visible from the floor, but never once took his eyes off the coin.

"Give a name?"

The mixologist stroked his waxed mustached with his right hand. "Think it was Kate. Wasn't here but a couple days, had to leave. Never lost. Some were beginning to wonder. In fact," he leaned closer to Zach, a secret waiting to be exposed, "she cleaned that young fella out of all his cash and his horse and tack, too."

Zach followed the direction of the beer tender's chin. "That dandy?"

White suited, stylish, the young man looked like he'd just gotten off a riverboat in Natchez. He was the only clean-shaven one among the four other men of obviously much lesser social standing.

Professional gambler.

Zach felt a swelling of pride at the young gal's prowess in separating this brash dandy from his cash.

He tossed the nickel in the air; a quick hand caught it just as it arced downward. Another coin appeared in Slaughter's hand but this one he placed firmly into the shenker's palm. He didn't wait to see the reaction the double eagle brought.

"Gentlemen, may I join you?" Zach used his best, most lazy and carefree New Orlean's drawl as he sat down among the table of five men.

"Any of you men," Zach casually threw out the words along with his ante, "run across a pretty red haired filly that could shuffle the black off an Ace of Spades?"

Dunn pulled up his lip. "Named Kate?"

An affirmative nod.

_Dandy Dunn_, Zach's unvoiced name for the rich, spoiled brat who sat across from him.

"That bitch was good. Could out hold a warehouse." Dunn took a swig of his beer but brought it to his lips much too forcefully. The beer poured down the sides of his mouth to his chin. "Couldn't," he wiped the dampness with his white coat sleeve, "quite say for certain she was cheating." He took a breath and came back with venom in his voice, "cleaned me out, got my horse too."

_Little whiny popinjay._

"She was a looker," another man with a faded blue shirt and a worn jacket by the name of Gunther, added. "Fresh. Young. Wouldn't go up those stairs," he glanced with dusty brown eyes toward the crimson runnered stairs, "for no amount of money."

"Wasn't the usual kind of saloon gal," Spader added. He blew out a breath of air between his lips, "I'd a paid anything she wanted."

Zach tried to look sympathetic. No man here had enough money to buy Kate. That included him.

Gunther separated and pushed together his hand of five cards. "Kind of got the feeling," he peaked above his hand to cautiously meet the eye of the rest of the men, "that she never done the deed."

It took a bit of time before he and the others, with the exception of Dunn, had a good laugh.

They could laugh all they wanted, Zach told himself. But if any of them would have so much as touched Kate, he'd of made them pay.

"Guess we all tried."

Zach didn't see who said that, he was thinking about the time he did get her alone.

"What did your horse look like, sonny, anything special?"

"Mister," Dunn put both hands flat on the table and stood ready to vault over it and attack Zach. "That horse was a breeding mare, black as the ace of spades, with a spirit to match. Pureblooded walker, sixteen hands. Showy."

Dunn started breathing again as soon as he sat back down.

"Know where she went?" another off handed question.

What the others couldn't see was Zach's heart racing with the anticipation of a cat about to pounce on its prey.

"Painted hussy I bought to soothe my pride told me she was going west. Dodge City. And riding my horse."

Zach couldn't believe how well this was going. Another piece of the puzzle was locked into place and he was hard on her tail and closing in.

He begged out of the game, not at all concerned that he'd lost a good bit of cash. The loss was cheap compared to the information he'd gleaned. He was too excited to sit with a bunch of old men who wouldn't know what to do with a woman even if they got one.

He needed a woman. Now. He needed to calm down. A red headed one to help ease his fleshly needs. A young one with a slim body.

No matter what face she had, he'd see only sweet Kate DuPris.He


	5. Chapter 5

The Charmer's Edge

Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I did not create the majority of these characters.

Her reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror was not a pretty sight to behold. It hurt to see the tangles in her hair; more painful still to take care of the problem with the hairbrush and comb lying on the bureau. The same curls as her father. One day, if the man ever found out she was his daughter, she'd thank him for this gift of exasperating snarls.

The maple wardrobe held a selection of clothing. Plain skirts, with and without bustle; plaids in both large and small, in numerous colors; chaste blouses with high collars and wide cuffs at the wrists in subdued shades; and some awful, homely dresses. All of these clothes were common. She couldn't imagine the extravagant Kitty being seen in any of these frumpy frocks.

Kate chose a dark blue skirt and white long sleeved blouse. These, at least, were elegant in their simplicity. She ignored the pairs of hook and eye, calf-high shoes. She had neither the patience nor the desire to irritate the aching crease in her side caused by Jake Wentworth's bullet.

Kate opened the door between Kitty's room and her own. Her mother slept, purring softly, surrounded by huge silk-covered blue pillows and cocooned within a set of sky blue sheets. A light quilt patterned in various shades of blue lay bunched at the foot of the bed.

Wine colored wallpaper, with a contrasting fleur de lis pattern in burnished gold, gave the large room a rich, warm feel. A medallion back sofa, royal blue, sat against the wall opposite the small brick fireplace. Other deeply colored armchairs surrounded an ecru lace covered round table. An extra long wardrobe of curly maple, its doors partially ajar, exposed the taffetas and silks of Kitty's finer pieces of clothing. Small glass containers and fine brushes adorned the top of a large dresser with a square, wood-framed mirror.

This was the fancy woman's room.

Kate stood by the bedside and stared down at the sleeping woman.

The mother she hardly knew.

The woman who carried her under her heart for nine months.

Gave life to.

Discarded.

She recalled Doc's words. She understood them.

But one thought stuck in her mind and she couldn't get past it.

This woman gave her away.

No paint; pale bare skin. Kitty's eyelashes were long, just like her own, red gold. Not a deep red, Kitty's lips held a hard line even in sleep. They shared the same shade of hair. But her mother's had stray white ones that hers did not.

Kitty was aging and Kate missed it all.

Just when her heart began to soften another stab of self-pity took over.

It wasn't her fault she'd missed it. Kitty was the one who put her aside.

Kate padded on bare feet back to her own room and from there through the other door to the inside balcony of the Long Branch. From this vantage point, the saloon didn't look nearly as big as it had a couple nights ago.

It didn't surprise Kate in the least that the walls of the Long Branch were a dusky blue.

Sam looked up from his sweeping. "Morning, Miss Kitty."

As Kate came down the steps, the man blushed.

"I thought you were Miss Kitty."

Sam had kind eyes.

"She said she had someone staying in the spare room."

"Sam," Kate wanted to tell him that she'd met and talked with him before. Tell him they shared words about his boss, her mother. But that was before the bullet changed her plans in a most abrupt way.

"Marshal Dillon said to be prepared for a resemblance, but.."

"Kitty's still sleeping and I'm hungry. Is it DelMonico's?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Down the street to the right."

"Thanks, Sam."

He was still looking at her with that strange, puzzled look that men got when they just couldn't quite put two and two together.

Kate turned the worn and slightly dented doorknob of the marshal's office, pushed it open, and stepped inside. A gamy scent held its own with the strong smell of Arbuckle's.

"Can I hep ya with something?" The thin, bearded man fussed over the coffee pot in the far right hand corner of the room.

"I take it the Marshal's not here?"

The man looked up from his work. "No, Ma'am. But Mathew'll be back directly."

With coffee pot now in hand, he gestured for Kate to sit on one of the four chairs surrounding a small square table with deeply pitted battle scars on its surface.

"Choos like some coffee, Miss?"

"Thank you. Yes I would."

The chair was as uncomfortable to sit in as it looked, definitely not meant to be used for any length of time. But it did match perfectly with the building. Pure masculine. Hard surfaces. Unadorned walls except where a few wanted posters and a chained gun rack broke the monotony. A gritty floor.

It was a reality check after coming from her mother's well-decorated, softly comfortable, and richly furnished rooms. Even the saloon proper gave off a warmer feeling than this place.

A cot pushed close to the back wall had pegs with faded rose-colored shirts hanging above it. Her father's bed? Another, sturdier door was half open and she could see the iron bars of a cell.

No matter how carefully the baggy trousered man tried to be, he spilled coffee on top of the black, pot bellied stove. The liquid sizzled and he puttered, calling attention to his awkwardness. As he brought the mug to the table, it was too full and drops spilled to the floor with big splats. Hands shaking and cheeks a bright red underneath the patches of scraggly hair on his face, he set the mug in front of Kate.

"Can't remember seein' yous in town afore." He sat across from her, a silly smile in his eyes.

"Came in a couple nights ago. And you are?"

"I'm Festus Haggen, Marshal Dillon's deputy."

His embarrassment was slowly draining away.

"Have you known the Marshal for very long?" Kate sipped the coffee, it was very hot, but she couldn't control the gag that came from the grainy liquid catching in her throat.

Festus let out a sound like a leaking balloon and shook his head. "A bit strong fer ya is it?" He used his hands to talk as much as his voice. "Ya should see old Doc a spit an sputter when he drinks it. Old Scutter."

Kat coughed, trying very hard not to gag any more. "You ever thought about using less grounds?"

His open hand made a stabbing motion. "Oh, pshaw, us Haggens likes it strong enough to put hair on the chest."

As soon as he said the last words his head went down almost to his own cup and the red color consumed his face once more. "Didn't mean to offend you, Ma'am."

"I'm not offended. But I don't need or want hair on my chest and," Kate reached over the small table, felt between the open buttons at the neck of his shirt, put a couple fingers underneath the union suit to his bare chest, "neither to you, Festus."

The ungainly man grinned from ear to ear. "I didn't git cher name."

The door swung open and a dark haired, clean-shaven young man burst in. His big tan hat bobbed when he took a double take at the pair seated at the table. He stood for a moment staring at Kate. No quizzical look, just a sure and steady once over. Another deputy marshal's badge graced his gray shirt. Without taking his eyes off Kate, he took off his hat and hung it on a peg next to the door.

"Newly, I was just a fixin' ta git this here gal's name."

"Kathryn. Kathryn DuPris." She smiled at each of the men, "but my friends call me Kate."

"You're drinking Festus' coffee?" A raised lip, a look of abject horror.

"I'm trying."

"Miss Kathryn.."

Kate rested her hand on top of Festus' hairy one and shook her head. "I said my friends call me Kate."

The bandy rooster puffed out his chest and winked at Newly. "Miss Kate, here," he started again with a big smile, "is a wantin ta talk with Matthew."

"Festus," Newly said, "did you happen to ask Miss Kate where she's from?"

"I didn't want to be too pry full."

"Well I think she's from the hills." Newly winked at Kate. "She's a barefoot gal."

Festus dipped his head over the side of the table, saw the bare feet, and bobbed back up again.

"Sorry," she shrugged her shoulders, "I'm from New Orleans and I just didn't want to put shoes on this morning."

"And Miz Kate, choo kin do anything yous wants ta."

"Can I," Newly stopped, looked at Festus, turned his chair backwards, then sat down, resting his arms on the high back, "can we help you?"

Kate opened her mouth once again but didn't have a chance to put out any words before the office door opened again. This time it was the marshal who filled it.

Matt stood for a moment, his detective eye scanning the characters in the room, the young woman and the two captivated men. "I see you fellas have met Miss DuPris."

Both deputies nodded but never took their eyes off Kate.

A grunt escaped Matt Dillon's huge frame. "I was afraid of that." He nodded to the red head with a disappointed look. "Men, I'm gona ask you to step outside, Miss DuPris and I have some things to talk about."

"You know, Kate," Dillon spoke firmly after he'd closed the door behind the slow moving deputies, "you got a way with men." He poured himself a cup of coffee then sat down. "That ever cause you any trouble?"

_Her father was very observant._

"Marshal, we women of the south learn these things at an early age. Our men," she batted her long eyelashes at him while ignoring the malevolent look in his eyes, "expect this of us."

"Kitty's from New Orleans, she doesn't."

"I will take your comment under advisement." She watched him take a sip of the coffee and sympathetically felt the grounds catch in her throat.

He noticed. "I'm immune."

She couldn't reply.

"You sure you should be up and around?"

Kate studied the man in the washed out rose-colored shirt and wondered how he would react when and if he found out that she was his daughter. "I have to move. Can't stand laying around." Kate dropped the flirtaceous batting of the eyelashes and the slow drawl.

"Kitty know you went out?"

Comfortable light blue eyes, deep, the kind that saw everything. Crow's feet tracked the corners of his eyes and deep weathered ravines creased the sides of his mouth. Just like her mother, she'd missed her father growing older. But this man she didn't feel any anger toward. He didn't even know she existed.

"She was still sleeping. I didn't want to wake her."

An agreeing nod was all she got.

"She put in a lot of time taking care of me and I'm real grateful for her giving me a place to stay."

He nodded again. "Kitty's like that."

And, she assumed, he would know that more than she would.

"Kate, I need to hear what went on in the Long Branch the other night. Part of my paperwork."

Casual, he sat back in one of those incredibly uncomfortable chairs and crossed one long leg over the opposite knee.

Kate took a breath and began. "Some drunk bumped into me, I fell into that Jake Wentworth, spilled my free beer on him. He went berserk. Lifted me by my shirt. His was strong as a bull, Marshal. Threatened to kill me." She took another breath. "Then Kitty got him to let me go. She's got one loud voice. She made him leave. He said we weren't finished yet." She shook her head to the negative. "He wasn't kidding."

The lawman sat quietly. If his facial expressions could have made sounds, she would not have been able to stand the din.

"Go on."

"He came back and called me out."

The big man frowned. "That's what I don't quite understand. He called you out and you actually faced him."

Kate felt the sweat beading on her forehead. "Marshal, the tone of his voice gave me no choice. He'd a killed me, shot me in the back, if I hadn't turned. This man was one mean drunk."

"Who drew first?"

"He did, actually..but I was faster. I already shot him when he got me. He was lucky."

She could see Matt puzzling the scenario in his mind. "I know he drew first, plenty of witnesses. Where did you learn to handle a gun like that?"

_It's in the breeding, Daddy._ "What I told you last night is the truth. But even a woman, dressed as a man, needs to protect herself."

She felt better when the man across from her agreed but that slightly puzzled, slightly surprised expression still lingered.

"I'll walk you back to the Long Branch."

Kate stepped up on the threshold, turned, and looked the brawny marshal straight in the eye. Close. She could feel his breath on her face, the heat of his body.

"I came in riding a big black filly. Do you know what became of her?"

The marshal didn't move away from her and she wondered what was going through his mind.

"Do believe she's down at the livery."

"I'll need to check on her. She's a very unusual horse."

"Yes, Ma'am."

For just a brief instant, she knew he was seeing a young Kitty, fresh and bright eyed, when his strong features went soft and a most delightful smile spread across his handsome face.

Kate could hear the horse long before she saw it. Impatient stomps mingled with low and high-pitched grunts and whinnies.

The horse was tall. Matt's mouth fell open when he saw her height as equal to that of his big buckskin gelding. Buck was a full seventeen hands. Tall.

The horse calmed some as Kate scratched the long mane between the filly's ears. "Poor Lilith."

"Lilith!?"

"She hates being confined as much as I do." Kate, once again, playfully batted her thick coppery lashes at the man at her side. "You know who Lilith was, don't you?"

Judging by the silence that followed, he did not.

Lilith pawed a mound of straw and swayed fretfully from side to side as Kate continued to answer her own question. "She was Adam's first wife, but God kicked her out of Eden because she wanted so much of Adam's time, his manly time, if you follow my meaning."

She loved this part. Most men were shy when it came to speaking of the sexual union and they blushed. It seemed to her that men couldn't talk about this with a woman, only with their male counterparts in bawdy places like sporting houses, saloons, and over the back fence.

"Then God made Eve and look what happened then."

"That's a mighty fine looking animal, Kate, how did you get her?"

_Very good, Daddy._ He didn't blush, didn't show any reaction whatsoever.

"I won her in a poker game at the Alhambra."

"In Springfield?"

"Mmm."

"Don't imagine the loser was too happy about that."

She wondered what he would say if he knew she cheated to get the man's money, then his horse. And all for the simple reason of his lecherous comments toward her. The dandy wanted to bed her. Just like the rest of them. But she hadn't played foolishly this time. She'd learned her lesson in New Orleans.

"She needs to get out. She just loves to run, kick up those heels. Knows her time as a brood mare is coming on fast. Marshal," she presented herself squarely in front him, it's plain that I cannot handle this spirited filly in my present, weakened condition. Is there someone you could recommend as trustworthy who could exercise her? That man, Festus, is nice enough but Lilith wouldn't like those spurs he wears. Now that Newly," a coy smile escaped her lips between the outpouring of words, "he seems a gentle sort but with a firm hand."

"I can ask him."

It was a forgone conclusion. Kate knew Mr. Newly would be more than willing.

By the time Matt and Kate pushed through the swinging doors of the Long Branch, Kate was holding his right arm in both her hands and making body contact along with rapid-fire conversation.


	6. Chapter 6

The Telling

Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I did not create these characters but I surely do enjoy their interaction.

"Well," Kitty's husky voice carried the extra spice of a snarl as she welcomed Kate and Matt to the side bar of the Long Branch, "what have you two been up to?"

"The Marshal and I," Kate liberated Matt's right arm, giving him both a pat and a big smile, "had our little talk."

Kitty sniggered. "I'll just bet you did."

Kate didn't miss a beat.

"And he showed me where Lilith is. She's my horse."

Kitty expressed the question but before the words could follow, Matt interjected, "Don't ask."

"You look tired, Kate."

"I guess I am. I'm going to lie down for a while."

Kate saved her best and warmest smile for the tall lawman. Kitty understood.

She also saw the triumphant gleam in Kate's eyes when Matt smiled back.

Matt didn't realize it but he watched Kate climb the stairs, never once looking away until she was behind the door of her room.

"You know there's just something about her I can't put my finger on."

Kitty moved closer and put her ringed fingers on Matt's arm. "She's a pretty girl. And smart when it comes to making men do what she wants."

A hesitation. "Ya, I told her that."

"And?"

Matt lifted his sturdy shoulders the way he did when he was totally helpless. That side of him no outlaw or casual acquaintance ever saw. He saved those rare occasions for his close friends. And for her.

Doc was right. Matt needed to know everything about this lively young lady. That she was his.

She worried about his reaction. A mild man in spite of his chosen profession, he did show a good amount of anger when his strong sense of fairness, of right and wrong, was abused.

He'd have problems with her secrecy.

But not the reason for it.

"Cowboy." Kitty raised a well-defined auburn eyebrow.

Matt leaned closer with an inquiring look of his own.

He wasn't thinking about Kate now.

So predictable. She knew him so well. He was wondering why he was getting that sultry come-on so early in the morning.

"I need to talk to you."

A soft smile crossed his deeply sun browned face.

_When is it the correct time to tell a man he has a teen-aged daughter?_

The door to her office barely closed behind them when she felt Matt's hands on her, gentle hands that made her feel secure and loved.

She gave in to those hands as they turned her to face him then lifted her to his eye level to press her body against the wall with his own. She couldn't turn away from the urgent but tender kisses he planted on her neck, face, and lips. She was being sidetracked and loved every second of it.

"M.mm" between kisses, "Matt."

He pulled away and dropped Kitty slowly to stand on her own two feet. Matt was baffled, the crease between his bushy eyebrows a deep chasm.

"Sit down, Matt. I have something I need to tell you."

She opened the liquor cabinet while he sat in her comfortable swivel chair behind her neatly organized desk. She poured two shots of her best brandy and handed one to the obedient and quiet man, keeping the other for her.

Kitty felt the questions in his pale blue eyes as he watched her every move. Those eyes could be sad, happy, cold as ice, angry. Lustful. Now they revealed an uneasy anticipation. She wanted to reach out and draw her fingers along the deep recesses that lined either side of his mouth, wish the days in the sun, the responsibility of his job to go away. This man had too little laughter and joy in his life.

He was a far cry from the young man she'd given her heart to eighteen years previous.

But he could say the same about her. She was much softer, now, more trusting, but harder in other ways. Definitely more independent and capable of surviving on her own.

She, too, bore the weight of heavy responsibility. One in particular for eighteen years. That decision had been hers and hers alone. And whether or not it was the correct way to handle the situation, she lived with it each day since.

"The telling's not going to be easy, Matt." She touched his face with the back of her free hand. "I only hope you can understand."

He took her hand in his own and brought it to his lips. The softness, the tenderness of it lingered long after he'd released her.

"Kitty, you're starting to scare me."

Matt Dillon cowering in front of her was an image she could not maintain. "I doubt that."

She sat on the edge of her desk facing the man she'd given so many years of her life to.

"Do you remember those discussions we used to have about marriage and family?"

His features went blank. Perhaps this man was afraid of some things.

"I can see that you do. For eighteen years you've been the only man in my life. The only man I let into my bed."

Matt swallowed some brandy with a noisy gulp and had trouble meeting her eyes with his own.

"I gave up the business of men for two reasons. I could support myself with out it and you."

He squirmed and sunk lower in the padded chair.

She almost felt sorry for him.

"Do you remember the first time I went back to New Orleans and how long I stayed?"

"Kitty?"

_Was that impatience mingled with pleading?_

She moved behind him and began a gentle kneading of his shoulders. Tight, hard as sun baked earth. A lot of slow love making, starting with a hot bath together would soften those muscles.

But not now.

She whispered in his ear. "Piece of paper or not Matt Dillon, you and I have been married for a long time. Eighteen years. And for eighteen years, you've been the only one."

A dark shadow of a pain filled memory jarred her thoughts.

"Matt," she spoke softly next to his ear, "you and I made a baby eighteen years ago."

Her heart beat once and in that space of time Matt was standing, his hands on her arms.

"Kitty," he forced his voice to be only a loud whisper, "what did you say?"

His hands were gripping her hard enough to feel pain. She forced her own words past the tightness in her throat that threatened to stifle the words that needed to be said. "I'm saying that there's a very good reason why Kate puzzles you."

_She could back out now. Turn coward. Salvage what she could. Lie again._

But Matt deserved better.

"She's our daughter."

His hands fell off her as if she were too hot to touch.

In the noisy silence that followed, Kitty poured two more fingers of brandy, mostly because she didn't want to see the range of emotions playing so obviously on Matt's expressive face, nor did she want him to see the quiver in her hands.

"A long time ago I went to care for my sick aunt, remember? I don't have an aunt." Without turning toward him she downed her drink in one swallow. "I was gone a good five months." She picked up Matt's glass, turned, handed it to him. "Long enough," she forced herself to look into his eyes, "to have her and make arrangements for my friend to raise her."

Matt didn't take the glass.

"Then I came back to you."

Was he thinking back to that time?

Was he remembering if, indeed, he was the only man to be invited to enjoy her body?

Did he think she could be lying?

He stood, silent, speechless.

"She was safe, Matt."

He looked at her differently now. The range of anger, confusion, and hurt were replaced with a stunned, incomprehensible frown.

"Does she know?"

"Yes, she does."

Matt ran his hand through his thick, wavy curls. "But she came dressed as a man. When did you..?"

"Her eyes. That smile. It's yours, you know. That pile of hair." Her words spilled out; there was a great comfort in that. "The birthmark cinched it. Heart shaped, above her left breast."

He reached for the glass. His hand was shaking enough to spill out a portion of the brandy. "Doc know?"

She laughed. "You know there's no point in trying to keep anything from that old man."

_But she had. For eighteen years._

"Kitty, I just don't know what to say." He downed the amber colored liquid in one swift swallow and flinched at the pain it caused him to do it.

"Well, cowboy, it might be best if you said nothing right now. I've been dealing with this for eighteen years and you've just found out." She put her hand on his chest, wanted to hold him. Wanted him to hold her. "You need to think on all this. Then we'll talk again."

"Kitty," his hand was on the doorknob, "we need to keep this between the four of us."

She knew that.

"See you later."

He was gone.

She would have liked him to stay. Talk. But the quiet man needed time be alone with his thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

Patience

Chapter 7

Zach Slaughter moved the sun faded lace curtains aside knowing full well what lay beneath his second floor window: Front Street; clouds of dust hanging in the stifling air above the street; piles of horse shit, both dried or freshly steaming; an obstacle course for the men and women crossing from one side to the other; an assortment of tired looking wagons; horses with ribs protruding under a dull coat of fur.

He wondered how these people so far below him would respond if they knew he considered them comical yokels in their big wide brimmed hats and heavy close spun home made clothing. They were as drab and lifeless as most of the other poor excuses for humanity he'd met in his life.

Another disappointment concerning this scab of a town bothered him. He'd heard its' reputation and wanted to hear the sound of bullets leaving the gun and entering the soft tissue of a body, wanted to see the lifeless lumps lying in the street, blood mingled with horse shit. Three hours and he'd not even caught the escalation of voices in argument.

He felt cheated with the silence and the overhanging threat of lawfulness.

Out of view but within smelling distance when the hot wind blew just right, was Moss Grimmick's Livery Stable. He'd passed it on his way from the train depot to the Dodge House. Hip roofed, two wide open doors, and a large coral with a surrounding fence of desiccated two by sixes, it wasn't much to look at but it could hold that uppity black filly previously owned by that spoiled white-suited dandy who deserved exactly what he got from the little red headed cheat.

He wished with every fiber of his body that the horse was there. Then this town might be worth the space it occupied.

He was, in truth, getting tired of the chase. Two months was a long time to be in pursuit of this slippery young woman. He'd almost had her once but her youth and the speed that came with it served her well as she eluded his grasp by just the barest amount of time. That only left him all the more frustrated and eager for the final event.

If she were here…….

The young auburn haired girl in Springfield cost him a good penny. Her madam was saving the child from heavy use but his sweet talk and the extraction of gold coin convinced the fleshy matron to let him have the girl for the night. But all that effort went for naught. Age, in this case, bore absolutely no relation to experience.

That's why he liked them young. He could break them in to his specific likes. This one, he couldn't recall her name now, was more than willing to earn her madam's dollar plus the extra bit for herself for the special touches. She knew way too much.

Fear. Naivety. Inexperience.

He should have known better than to expect that in a brothel but he had the need and knowingly bypassed the time it took to scout out a fresh one.

He lost his patience with her, only hit her three or four times before she finally understood just exactly what it was he wanted.

Good bitch after that. Didn't scream. Just let him get his fill of her.

It wasn't her fault. Really. She could never be Kate.

Kate.

He'd never had a woman consume his thoughts so completely until she came along. But then he'd always had the women, savored the intricacies of their bodies, tasted their fear, forgot them after, and gone on to new pursuits.

And there lay his problem: he'd never had the time to consummate his relationship with her.

Only in the peacefulness of his dreams did she came to him willingly, submit to his every desire. He took his fill of her in a way he'd never done with any other woman in his entire life.

He forced his mind back to the reality of the situation, back to this small, sparsely furnished room overlooking Front Street in the town of Dodge City, on a flat piece of dirt somewhere west of civilization.

And the fact that Kate would never come willingly.

_Patience._

_Stick to the plan._

Dinner. Check out the livery.

And if the horse were there, he'd settle in for a pleasant evening of observation at the Lady Gay.

He anticipated the anticipation.

He put on his smart bowler hat and admired the way his finely tailored clothing, reflected in the full-length mirror, lay flat against his body. Miss Kate should be thrilled to have the attention of such a handsome figure of a man.

His thoughts clouded, turned dark as an approaching storm.

Revenge would be sweet when he finally got his hands all over her body. She'd learn then what a good man he was.


	8. Chapter 8

A Mother's Choice

Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I did not create these characters but I love them dearly.

Spoilers: Allusions only.

"I told Matt."

Kitty waited for a response from the huddled shape swathed in the dim shadows of Kate's room.

"And?"

Doc's voice.

"He was shocked."

"Well of course he was."

Kitty caught a quick movement in the general direction of Kate's bed.

"And I did what I thought was best, too." Doc's words came slowly, each syllable seeming to cause pain.

"She needed to know why you did what you did, why you haven't been to see her these past four years." He affirmed his acted on decision with a definitive nod. "Had to be done so she wouldn't hold it against you."

Doc was anything but a shadow figure in her life.

Galen.

Friend. Mentor.

More. It was the more she couldn't quite put into words.

He was, she thought ruefully, the only male figure in her life she considered a father, the only one who never wanted or expected anything in return.

What was it that made him take it on himself to explain her actions? Perhaps he felt the same for her.

Two very good friends.

_Oh Susanna_ wafted through the cracks in the floorboards and the dried out, separated joints of the doors, to invade this darkened, safe place with its harsh metallic sounds.

Was it love she felt for the kindly old gentleman?

If it was, it was certainly different from the love she felt for Matt Dillon. And Matt Dillon definitely expected something from her in return and it wasn't the occasional beer or shot of whiskey. Intimacy; physical release. Diversion; the soft touch of a non-threatening hand. Understanding; his need to show tenderness. Acceptance; a no-strings approach to their relationship.

Kitty moved from the doorway to sit on the bed. She reached out and laid a hand on the arm of the person causing all these reflections to surface. Kate didn't flinch at her touch.

"Both you gals have had a rough day." Doc disentangled his arms from Kate's and stood up. He grabbed his narrow brimmed hat from the table and with his free hand, gently squeezed Kitty's shoulder.

Such a simple gesture that gave more support than words ever could.

"I'm gonna let you two talk about it." He plopped the worn dark brown hat far back on the crown of his silvery head of hair.

He turned for one last look at the two women not knowing that the light from the single, barely flickering lamp, gave his face a pale glow while surrounded by the dark halo of the brim of his hat.

Kitty smiled. He was no saint but at this specific moment in time, he was very special.

Kate curled into a fetal position and buried her face in the pillowcase. Muffled, she spoke, "He said you almost died last year."

A puffy red eye peeked from behind the safety of the pillow.

"You were beaten up. Forced. A lot of men. Shot. Because Daddy didn't do what they wanted."

The old man certainly hit the high points of that awful time that she would like to forget about more than anything else in the world.

"He said there were other times, too, but the last time was the worst."

"That's all past now." Kitty forced a smile knowing two things: it was too dark for Kate to see it and anyone who knew her well, would realize it was a genuine fake. "I hardly ever think about it." The lie came easily only because she'd had so much practice perfecting the delivery this past year. She was never quite sure Matt or Doc believed her, though.

But Kate might.

"Daddy let them…"

"Kate," Kitty controlled the force of that single word that so much wanted to be a scream, "your father is only human. He can only do so much when these cowards try to get to him though me."

"Why don't you leave?"

A very good question and one that she did, in her darker moments, ask herself. But always, as her thoughts brightened, she knew why she could never leave Matt Dillon.

Even in the wrenching life and death moments as she watched Doc dig bullets from Matt's body and dealing with the uncertainty that anyone of them could be the one to claim his life; even being used as a pawn herself, her own safety tenuous; wasn't enough to squash the anticipation, the exhilaration of being near Matt Dillon, of their bodies joining, of the shared words, the subtle touches.

"Kate, you have no idea what it's like to love someone so much that you'd give up your own safety just to be near him."

As soon as those words left her lips, she regretted them.

"That's why you gave me up instead."

Such a simple statement. Such a profound fact.

Matt Dillon's child possessed his same ability to touch a nerve with the plain, unadulterated truth of words.

"Doc says you did it to protect me."

Those words hung in the dark, warm air and Kitty wondered, hopefully, if they were meant as a pronouncement of forgiveness.

"Makes me feel real selfish expecting you to come pay attention to me when all this bad stuff was going on."

And was that Kate's version of an apology for her own feelings?

"We're together now, that's all that matters." Kitty grabbed the dark handled hairbrush from the dresser and began a gentle stroking of Kate's heavy tresses.

"What would Daddy do if something like that happened to me?"

Kitty didn't have to think too long on that question. Even though Matt didn't know his daughter, he would still feel the need to take off his badge, meet the offender straight on with an unquenchable fire and hell bent on taking away the light in the man's eyes; if his friends were not around to be the voice of reason in his rare moment of insanity.

"Your father will never let anything like that happen to you."

The air in the room seemed suddenly still and oppressive.

"He couldn't protect you."

Kitty put the brush aside and gathered Kate in her arms as she lay down next to her. "I've kept you safe from your father's enemies for eighteen years. Nobody knows about you except Doc, your father, and myself."

With a heavy heart Kitty saw the very real possibility of never being able to claim Kate as her daughter without arousing the suspicion of her father's smile.

And another conceivable, even more disturbing possibility crept into her thoughts. Would she, now that Kate was here, be forced to make a choice once again between the one and only love of her life and the daughter she bore out of that love?

A loud knock rattled the knickknacks on the wall shelves and startled both women.

"Kate?"

Matt's distinctively authoritative baritone voice reverberated in that big body of his just outside the safe and secure womb of Kate's room.

"Come in, Marshal."

Kitty wondered what the man thought when he saw the two of them lying face to face on the bed. She got up, patted Kate's arm and left the room with only a cursory nod to Matt.

"Miss Kathryn, I hear we have more things to talk about and they don't concern the shooting."

Kate hadn't moved a muscle. She lay on the bed watching her father stand so tall, so relaxed. There was even the hint of a smile obvious in the subdued light. When she finally acknowledged his presence with a nod, a length of copper colored hair fell across her face.

"I do believe so, Daddy."

Matt's smile broadened so that the corners of his mouth nearly reached back to his ears.

"So what's up with your mother?"

Kate felt a warm rush. For the first time in her life she felt like she belonged somewhere and to someone. She was her mother's daughter: looks, personality, independence, determination; she was her father's daughter: determined, maybe too one-sided in matters of a personal nature, stubborn.

"She feels bad about keeping me away from her all these years. Guilty cause she didn't tell you."

"Ya, I imagine she does. Your mother is a remarkable woman." Matt hung his hat on the rack. "Tough when she has to be. But she's not, really."

"She needs to know that you understand."

"Ya." He put his big hands on his hips. "We just haven't had any time to talk since this morning."

"Then you need to stay with her tonight. She really needs you."

Kate enjoyed the creeping red flush in his cheeks. It was dim, but she couldn't miss that bright red. She figured he got the implied meaning of her words.

"Young lady, you are way too forward."

Kate pushed the errant, tightly curled lock of hair behind her right ear. "Momma says you don't want anybody to know about me."

"Yup. Believe me, it's for your own good."

Kate leaped off the bed oblivious to the ache in her side and marched toward her father.

The big man's grin was replaced with an anxious, wide-eyed look of surprise.

Kate hadn't planned on being angry but the words _for your own good_ infuriated her. That rage grew with each step until she could lash out at the man with her fists. That was enough to drive Matt Dillon, helpless and overwhelmed, backward into the wall.

Still beating his chest and struggling to keep her voice from exploding into an all out frenzied shriek, she said hoarsely, "How did they find out about my mother? You couldn't keep that a secret."

She kept lashing out at the man until he got hold of her hands, pushing them down to her side, then encompassing her body with his own thick, strong arms. He held her tight and she felt her heart pounding against his chest.

"Kate." Kitty's throaty words were soft, soothing, "I'm fine, really."

Kate felt the anger diminish completely as her mother enveloped her with in her own arms.

She'd never experienced this before. Being held tightly between her parent's arms was like a cocoon she never wanted to emerge from. It was safe, secure. Comfortable.

"She's right, Kitty," Matt whispered. "And I don't want the same thing to happen to her."

Kate looked up at her father. This strong man's features had melted away to simple helplessness and dread.

"I couldn't keep you safe."

His eyes were on her mother, a painful glistening of memory laden with guilt.

"If anybody found out she was my daughter…" He let the sentence dangle.

_My daughter._

With those two simple words she knew she'd been claimed. The man called Matt Dillon believed the woman called Kitty Russell.

She was his daughter because Kitty told him so.

She understood then just how much her parents loved each other.

"We've got so much to talk about," Kitty struggled with emotion.


	9. Chapter 9

13

Friends

Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Doc, Festus, Newly, Matt, Kitty, and Sam are not my creations but the lovely and spirited Kate is.

Spoilers: Alias Festus Haggen, Dry Well, Old Fool, The Returning, The Choice, Patricia

Doc considered this beat up survivor of a table to be his. It never moved from the street side corner of the Long Branch; never got turned into a pile of splinters during the brawls that erupted occasionally on Saturday night; was always the meeting place for morning coffee or evening drinks that came freely and often; and where conversations flourished among the individuals he deemed his closest friends. The interchanges could be good or bad, happy or sad, one-sided or group, opinionated or not, but the lot of them began and ended at this very table.

Talk wasn't the only thing he remembered sitting at this table. Deep stains stood out from the lighter green of the felt tabletop. Some were the perfectly round of an overfull coffee cup without benefit of a saucer; a fan shaped wash of a spilled drink; the dark stains of someone's blood, dried, and now the color of faded orange; and those greasy inconsistent dots, some large, some mere pin pricks, that made him smile every time he saw them. Festus and his birthday cake.

He was a keen watcher of people and this table allowed him to observe what went on on the main floor of the saloon. He could see the men who elbowed the bar, watch the girls who earned their living getting these men to buy them drinks. He didn't miss the gals who earned extra money by taking the men up the steps, nor how long the couples lingered behind those doors off the balcony.

Kitty always went up those stairs alone.

He regretted being born too soon. If he were twenty years younger he'd make sure Kitty was never alone.

The aroma of fresh coffee and the sharp tang of rye whiskey, ghostly reminders, brought back the number of times he proposed marriage to the bright-eyed red head. He may have passed them off as a jest but Kitty was sharper then that, no dullard. He wondered if, deep down, she knew he was dead serious and the banter between them her way of letting him off with out embarrassment.

There was one exception and he still had dreams about it. He vividly recalled his heart literally stopping the day she proposed to him, offered to support him because he had no money. But worst of all, he turned her down. And with the same face saving banter.

An old man and a vibrant younger woman. Now that would be something for people to talk about.

And speculate.

But reality was one thing that age brought sharply into focus. He could never satisfy that woman. That was, he admitted with a great deal of sorrow, totally within the realm of the U.S. Marshal, Matt Dillon. And that man, he puckered at the sour thought, abused the woman with his lack of attention to her needs and the exultation of his own demands.

And yes, he informed the man about it.

Frequently.

Words didn't have much of an impact on Matt as long as Kitty was there for him. She was.

Always.

But in spite of the way he felt about Kitty and Matt, he was friend to both of them, respected them while not agreeing with some of their actions.

He proved that a couple hours ago when he had words with a very confused Matt Dillon. The man, so decisive when it came to law and order, was at a total loss as to how to proceed in his newfound situation with Kitty and the daughter he never knew he had until this morning.

Kitty. She got Matt good. Doc gave her credit for that. He always knew she was savvy but even he'd never expected anything like this. For once in her long-term relationship with Matt, the woman outfoxed him, gave his well-ordered world a severe blow.

That Kitty.

He convinced the towering man to make a trip up those stairs, the very public stairs for all to see, not those back stairs that cheapened their relationship in his mind. The man needed to talk to Kitty and begin a relationship with Kate.

Matt needed a push.

_Push._ What Doc really wanted to do was kick the man in the seat of his pants and ask what was taking him so long to make the move.

But, as always, friendship, respect, and decorum won out.

Did he feel sorry for Matt? Not at all. For the first time in his liaison with Kitty Russell he got a taste of the depth of commitment she had for him and better yet, the length she'd go through just to be with him.

Kitty and Kate. Apart for seventeen years. He knew and saw how much the woman fussed over children, knew she wanted a dozen Dillons hanging on to her skirts. Those years spent apart from Kate had to be terrible. Pure hell.

He wished for one thing, that Matt Dillon would learn something from this and not take that beautiful, spirited woman for granted anymore.

If he were only twenty years younger.

He took a congratulatory swig of his flat beer and felt smug. The saloon was full, he was observing, remembering, and better yet, Matt was upstairs with Kitty and Kate. Conversing. Healthy conversation was always a good thing.

The idea of a family was exciting. He thought of Matt as the son he never had, and Kitty…well, in those sane moments, she was the daughter he never had. He was plumb tickled when the two hit it off so many years ago. Those two kids couldn't contain the sparks that flashed between them. They'd matured into a discreet couple over the years. And now he was a grandfather. That still brought a few drops of moisture to his eyes that he couldn't blame on the dust and dirt of Dodge City.

That Kate. The spitting image of her mother. He looked forward to getting to know that young woman who also demonstrated a knack for originality.

A young woman dressed as a man and getting away with it, but even better, being the daughter of Matt and Kitty, the two people he loved more than anything else in the world.

He shook his old gray head and awaited more lively moments at this old table with Kate.

He'd have more memories.

The jingle of spurs and the scuffing of boot heels broke his pleasant train of thought.

"Ev'nin, Doc." Festus settled himself in a wooden chair with worn, varnish free arms and a few glued together pieces. He eyed Doc's half full beer.

"Not enough crime on the streets for you, gotta sit in a saloon?" Intentionally gruff, Doc didn't like being pulled from his genial cogitation.

Festus got up sharply and upset the chair. It rocked precariously on two back legs before settling down on all fours again. "Mangy old scutter," Festus pointed a grimy finger at the indignant old man, "must o been takin some o them thar ornery pills again." He took off his sweat stained hat and beat it against his knee. Dust flew.

"Festus!"

"And fer yer information, yes," Festus one-eyed the Doc, "the streets is quiet. They's also dusty. I was jist a hopin ta ketch up with Matthew, is all."

"He's busy." Doc drew his hand quickly over his bushy mustache and looked away from Festus.

"And how would chu know?" Still standing, Festus leaned over Doc and snarled, "less en ya chased him outa here like yer a doin me."

Galen pulled his fleshy earlobe as he took a moment to feign a thought. "Cause I know and he doesn't want to be disturbed. Now why don't you take your dusty old hat and get out o here and let me drink in peace." Doc set his washed out blue eyes on the deputy and challenged, "Go save somebody!"

Festus pulled his lip up in a sneer. A second later the twinkle of an idea brightened his eyes. He beat his hat on the table raising more dust and took great pleasure in watching the good doctor use his two hands to cover his beer.

"Feeble minded old catawomp." Festus turned heel and stalked out of the saloon.

Three swallows later Newly O'Brian pulled up the same chair, gave a discreet nod to Sam, and sat down. A frothy beer arrived seconds later.

"You got Festus all upset." Newly winked.

"Ask me if I care," Doc swiped his hand over his mouth, catching the bristle that was his mustache and looked toward the opposite corner of the large room.

"I met a real pretty gal in Matt's office this morning." The deputy took a deep swig then wiped the foam from his clean-shaven upper lip. "Said her name was Kate DuPris."

The younger man seemed to be waiting on a response from Doc but when he didn't get one he moved on.

"Haven't seen her on the street. You seen her, Doc?"

Doc jerked a nod. "You spent enough time grieving for Patricia. Glad to see you're at least looking again."

"I'll never forget Patricia."

Doc watched Newly bend his head so low no one could see the welling of tears that filled his eyes.

"I know, son," gentleness returned to Doc's gravely voice, "and you shouldn't."

Grief. It was such a personal thing. He'd seen people give up at the death of a loved one; he'd seen people simply take it in stride and move on as if nothing much had happened; and others kept what ever they felt buried so deep within themselves he never knew how they took it.

Being a doctor didn't make him immune to death, didn't numb his own feelings. He allowed a time for quiet, for Newly and himself, to reflect on the memory of the lovely young woman and the ache they each felt even amidst this saloon full of oblivious merry makers.

"That gal, Kate," Doc said calmly, "she's staying upstairs in Kitty's spare room."

A deep furrow creased the spot between the young man's extremely thick and black eyebrows. "Didn't seem like a…a."

_A saloon gal. A painted cat. A daughter of joy. A sporting woman._ Galen silently finished the man's undisguised thought.

"She's not. Just needed a place to stay and Kitty offered."

There was another lull in the conversation while Newly investigated every bubble of the froth topping his beer.

"Those two," Newly started with a bit of hesitation, "Miss Kitty and Kate, I mean, look a lot like sisters, Doc."

"Well, I don't know about that," he lied.

"She's just beautiful, Kitty."

Kitty looked across the oval table, over the smattering of blue and white porcelain plates and serving dishes, to Matt Dillon.

"So you approve of your offspring, do you?"

Not one minute before, Kate pushed her chair back from the table and excused herself. Fatigue, the young woman claimed. But it wasn't difficult to see the twinkle of mischief directed toward her father as she left the two alone.

"She got the good looks from you, I'll say that." Matt pushed away from the table.

"Maybe." Kitty kept her husky voice quiet. "But you did have your part in it." She could feign a girlish shyness but it wasn't her way.

Matt took the fork in his right hand and made parallel four-tracks in the remnants of the potatoes and gravy on his plate.

More serious now, Kitty wondered what was going through Matt's mind. Whatever it was wouldn't be put into words until he worked out the what and the how. She knew from experience they would be worth the wait. And she was an extremely patient person.

_Patient._ An understatement.

"I can't," he studied the perfectly straight lines, "imagine what you went through."

Silence and patience were her friends now and she welcomed them with open arms.

Matt took his attention off the potatoes and gravy and looked across the table to Kitty. Those sun faded blue eyes weren't shining.

"That you felt you couldn't tell me."

This survivor of fist fights, showdowns, and death threats took on the manner of a weak old man bent with the agonizing weight of remorse.

It was her intimate silence that caused it. Eighteen years ago.

"All those years. Lost."

She hated to see him this way. Hated even more that it was her fault.

"It had to be, Matt."

She saw more questions, more hurt, but she needed to continue in spite of it.

"You didn't want a wife," she heard herself say, thankful that the words held no hint of an accusation. "You said it so many times. And I really didn't think you needed a child to worry about, whether we married or not."

He expelled the air pent up inside him; Kitty wished his guilt could leave as easily.

"I made you go through this alone."

Matt let loose of the fork, it dropped on the plate with the force of a gunshot. He lowered his head again, either unwilling or unable to look across the table.

"I can't believe I made you do this."

Kitty wanted to say it was all right, wanted to spare the man any more pain.

"There just was no other way, Matt. I made the choice to stay with you. But I could never put our child through the stigma of being the bastard child of a whore."

"Kitty!" 

Matt did have some fight left in him. The force of that word was an assault that took her back.

"You're not a whore, don't ever say that."

Such a sweet man. But once a whore, always a whore. Whether he liked it or not the world judged differently; and the world could label a child for the sins of her mother.

"And Kate."

He put his hands on either side of his head and gasped.

She saw him, saw the suffering he was going through, wanted even more to make it better. But eighteen years couldn't be erased simply because she wanted it that way.

Instead of words, Kitty felt compelled to go to him, to hold his head between her soft hands, to bring his face up so she could look into those sorryish sky blue eyes.

His hands covered hers for an instant before he rested his head on her belly.

"I never understood just how much you gave up to stay with me."

She put her arms around him and held him.

"I don't know why you stay with me, woman."

"If you don't know that by now, cowboy, there's no hope for you at all."

"You said I didn't want a wife."

Timid words from a strong man.

"I wanted you more than anything else in the world."

She kept silent, kept holding him. Waiting.

"I didn't want you to be alone because some gunman got lucky, didn't want my children growing up knowing their father was killed by some worthless no-account."

And, he said often to her, he didn't want that reality to cloud his judgment, hold him back from what needed to be done. The mighty Matt Dillon couldn't have familial responsibility getting in the way of his line of duty. He was ready and fully expected, to die any time.

It wasn't any easier his way. She still watched and prayed while Doc dug the bullets out of his flesh; cringed each time she saw the slug violate his body. Worse yet, the unknown. Was he alive or dead, lying rotting in the sun, a feast for two and four legged scavengers. Those long periods of time away from him were pure hell.

More than once she mourned his passing, mentally wore the black of a grieving wife. But she was never that, a wife, in the legal sense of the word. But her heart made the commitment and that was as strong as any piece of paper. Even more of a bond. That was what really mattered.

"I'm so sorry."

"I wouldn't do it any other way, even now, Matt."

The words were true. She hoped he didn't take them to be cruel, to make him feel more ashamed.

"I know what's important to you."

She felt the warmth of a satisfied smile spread across her face at the memory of Kate's birth. "I had the child of the man I loved. I was happy."

The words were meant to ease the turmoil in his soul.

"But you left her with someone else."

Kitty couldn't hold back the painful groan that escaped her body.

"I never wanted to put you through any of this."

Matt put one of his big hands on her belly, gently massaged the nurturing place of his daughter so many years before.

"I know you didn't."

"You've given up so much for me." Matt stood and put his arms around Kitty's slender waist and his lips found the bare flesh under her chin.

"Are you making rounds tonight, cowboy?"

"Well," pulled her even closer to himself, "I just might follow the orders I got from my daughter instead."

Kitty molded her body to Matt's.

"And are you going to let me in on what those orders might be?"

"Nope. Gonna show you."

The saloon was packed, again. Kitty was making money, or so Kate thought as she peered over the balcony railing.

Doc and Newly were in the far corner, the only two at a table big enough for eight, nursing beers with their heads together in conversation.

The piano player had a cluster of old cowboys and perky beer maids singing along on _Jimmy Crack Corn._ Half were nowhere close to the correct melody but they sang all the louder to make up for it.

Three tables of poker, each chair filled, were going on with plenty of loud shouts, backslapping, and swearing. A few belches added tonal variety.

The room buzzed with a life of its own.

Kate's attention was drawn to the poker games. She wanted to join in, realized she hadn't run across her stash of money as yet; and then decided it was better if she didn't. She wasn't dressed for it nor did she want to draw attention to herself.

Halfway down the stairs she noticed Doc and Newly watching her with appreciative smiles and nods to come their way. Others were grinning at her but there was a hunger of something else behind those looks. They made her uncomfortable because they never took their eyes off her chest.

"Still don't want to wear shoes?" Newly challenged her for an answer.

"Nope."

"You look tired, Kate." Doc added.

"I am," she complied with a weak shrug, "but I wanted to check on Lilith."

"Lilith?!" Doc exploded with something resembling a cough and a sneeze.

"My horse," she answered calmly.

"Lilith?" Newly considered the word as he stroked his chin. "You named a horse after Adam's first wife?"

Kate had a wonderful new appreciation for the good-looking young man. He was educated as well as handsome. She sat down next to him and put her elbows on the table.

"And maybe," Newly parked his elbows on the table, the right one next to Kate's and leaned close as if telling a bit of juicy gossip, "that bit of information is better left unknown, Lilith being a man hater and a stealer of children."

"Mr. O'Brien."

Newly swizzled half his beer while Kate watched. "My friends call me Newly."

"Newly," Kate smiled sweetly, "would you walk me to the livery stable? It's late and…"

"It would be my pleasure, Miss Kate."

"Where's Matt and Kitty?" Doc asked as Kate moved past him.

She bent and whispered into Doc's hairy ear. "Upstairs. My Daddy is doing what I told him to do." She rubbed her nose to get rid of the itch. "Think it's gona be a long night."

Bushy salt and pepper eyebrows rose, and then came the wink.

She knew the doctor was pleased.

"Your horse, Miss Kate, sure gets a lot o looks." Hank held the pitchfork in hand, complete with a fragrant pile of fresh nuggets and straw lying on the tines.

"What do you mean?"

"Man wearin best bib and tucker came in here earlier this evening, took a shine to this here Lilith. Asked questions bout the owner."

Kate shivered in spite of the moist August heat.

"Course," Hank eyeballed her, "I don't feel right bout giving out that kind o information."

"What did he look like?" Kate asked, hardly waiting for the slender beanpole of a man to finish his sentence.

"Black hair, handle bar mustache, nice and waxed. Real dark eyes, hardly any whites to em. Not used to hard work, his hands was soft." Hank put a quart of oats and a pile of yellowed grass hay into Lilith's manger. "But it was the way he talked. Fancy like. As if I didn't have a brain in my head."

Two months of running and he'd caught up with her again.

"Kate," Newly touched her shoulder, "you look like you just saw a ghost."

_Not a ghost._ A devil. In a man's body.

"If you're in some kind of trouble…"

"No, no," she lied as she considered her options. _Run. Face the situation. Run. Stay._

Only one seemed right. _Stay and end it once and for all._

Her newfound parents would be so disappointed when they learned the truth.

_A risk_. Perhaps she could handle this on her own. They need never know.

That young gunfighter would just have to make another appearance. Slaughter didn't know anything about Sandy Catton, but Sandy sure knew an awful lot about Zach Slaughter.


	10. Chapter 10

The Color Red

Chapter 10

Standard disclaimers apply.

Women for the taking. Drunken cowboys. Bad whiskey.

The Lady Gay had all three and each one fed on the vices of the other in a vicious circle.

He couldn't expect much more when the bar, itself, was a rough planed plank of wood twelve feet long and supported by two whiskey barrels on top of each other at both ends. Women in scanty short dresses and layers of face paint disappeared through a door at the back with wobbly-kneed bucks sporting their excitement in their pants. He knew what went on in the back, could only imagine what the paint was attempting to hide. The gals were pretty enough even though they were past the freshness of youth. Not that that really mattered after a man attained a full drunk.

The place even had a red head. It wasn't real.

Looseness of tongues, an advantage to him, was the only reason keeping him in this place.

Slaughter shuffled a deck of cards as he sat against the farthest wall of the long, narrow saloon. Alone. He assumed his lack of gambling partners was because of his neat, tidy suit that screamed professional gambler. No matter, his eyes and ears worked overtime.

Now that he knew she was here.

A big bug in baggy pants pushed through the door, the badge on his chest leading the way. Spurs jangling, he walked the perimeter of the room eyeing the men sitting at the tables and the women hanging on to them.

Zach nodded, putting two fingers to the narrow brim of his black Bowler.

Fuzzy face acknowledged with, "Peers quiet in here tonight."

Somewhere long in the past, the deep crowned hat lost its original color and became a sweat stained shade of the dry prairie he'd traversed by train.

"I just got into town today so I'll take your word on that, Marshal."

"Pshaw, I ain't no marshal. I'm th' dep'ty."

Zach watched the deputy wipe his sweaty face with the long end of the equally colorless bandana around his neck.

"Shore is a hot one t'night."

"That it is, Deputy."

"Name's Festus Haggen."

Zach caught wind of the deputy's second job before looking down to see a collection of dried horse manure on the toes of his cracked boots.

"Got us a heap o strangers in town."

Festus stood still, talking at Zach.

"Now Marshal Dillon, he likes ta keep a good order in town."

"This Marshal Dillon, is he a fair man? Honest?"

The filthy man showed no inkling of leaving.

"Pfff. He's th' best dang marshal in these here parts. Mebby anywheres."

"I just might come to see him tomorrow, Festus. Seems I've tracked a four-flusher to his town." He gave a nod. "Might be this could get handled without trouble."

There was no way he could ever explain the situation to a lawman and expect any help at all but then this dim wit wouldn't know it anyway.

"Well, shore, he'll be in his office t'morrow. You jes c'mon in."

Relieved, Zach saw Festus imitate the fingers to the hat. Even idiots could learn manners.

"You all have a good night. Been nice a jawin' with ya."

Zach wondered what the best dang marshal looked like especially when he had a deputy the likes of Festus Haggen. The people west of St. Louis were a different ilk.

He did have to give some credit to this marshal. The town was quiet.

Too quiet.

As Zach walked back to the Dodge House later that evening, he heard the sounds of another drunken free-for-all and the screams of wanton pirooting from the street outside the Bull's Head. True whores made their money any way and anywhere they could, even if it was up against a wall in a back alley.

He crossed this saloon off his list. It was bad enough sitting in the Lady Gay for three hours.

The Long Branch looked to be his best chance, the kind of saloon and clientele that the pretty young gal would gravitate toward.

Tomorrow.


	11. Chapter 11

13

Hormones

Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I did not create the characters of Kitty Russell and Matt Dillon. They belong to someone else. But I did create Kate and Zach to complicate the lives of the Dodge City regulars.

For the first time in three mornings, Kitty woke in a stupor of peaceful contentment. Her hand unconsciously probed the other half of her bed for the living, breathing reason for her good night's sleep and the satisfaction that filled her mind and body.

She hadn't felt him leave; hadn't heard either the donning of clothes or the opening and closing of the doors. But she did remember, a lazy smile greeting the day as she finally opened her eyes and welcomed the light, the promise he made before they succumbed to enjoying the physical intricacies of each other's bodies.

Matt Dillon: short on words.

Inexhaustible on action.

Kitty opened the door to Kate's room.

The scene spread out before her didn't make sense: an oily rag, a gun, lacy pale blue night gown, gun belt, a pile of unspent bullets; all congregating on or about Kate.

Kate looked up and Kitty felt the girl's silent appraisal of her jumbled mass of hair and the severe listing of her nightgown down her right shoulder exposing a wealth of amber freckles.

"You look like hell, Ma."

Kitty wanted to retreat to her bed and quickly nest between the sheets with her head covered to escape this site and these sounds in the hope that when, if she ever did get up again, she'd find this whole scene a bad dream.

Kate sniffed. "You smell like sex. Must have been good."

"Kate!"

It was far too late for a retreat.

"And how would you know, sweetheart?" Kitty fired back.

"What? Whether it was good or how it smelled?"

Kate eventually stopped the wiping of the gun and preceded to put six bullets in the chamber, spin the cylinder, and finally, with a loud snap, put the short-barreled gun into the black leather scabbard.

The person that looked up from the hardware and lace now had a softer look about her.

"Sorry, Momma. But you do look bad."

In the lull between Kate's first disturbing words to this most recent outburst Kitty contemplated the pros and cons of continuing the battle by explaining that makeup was a wonderful thing and that Kate would find that out, as she got older. _About the sex?_ That could wait.

Instead, she chose another path.

"What are you doing that for?"

Kate wasn't stunned by the question so Kitty sat down on the bed along with Kate and her collection of iron, leather, and frill and waited for an answer.

"Did you ever," Kate let out a long stream of breath, "do something you regretted? Have to pay for it?

_Only a thousand times when she was Kate's age. Not so much now._

"Of course. What's going on, Kate?"

"I have to dress like Sandy…the first time you saw me."

Spreading blood, thick and red, was all Kitty could think of or see.

"Why?"

Kate's narrow shoulders slumped. "Got myself into a situation and I have to get out of it."

Kitty's words exploded after she realized that using a gun made Kate's circumstances very serious. "Your father and I will do whatever…" She stopped when she saw Kate caress the pearl handle of her gun.

"I don't want to see you laid out at Percy Crump's." Kitty put a hand on Kate's shoulder and squeezed. "Are you sayin you don't want our help? Listen here, little girl, I can't get the picture of you lyin on the floor bleedin out of my mind. No." She dug her fingers into Kate's flesh until the girl winced. "No..you gotta let us help."

"Not yet."

Not yet!?"

The young man walked down the hall to the back door. His step was light; his heals barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. But the swagger belonged to a confident man.

Kitty stood silently as Kate bound her breasts with a wide strip of undyed linen; wound her shiny red gold hair on top of her head then covered it with a cap of matching color; cringed with each addition as the trousers, the shirt, the hat, the gun belt, the boots, changed the girl piece by aggravating piece, bit by exasperating bit, into the man that now walked away from her.

And to top it off, or add more insult, Kate paused at the back door for one last look at Kitty before uttering these most infuriating words, "I have to do this my way."

She'd heard those words often from a different source. Kate and her father were so much alike.

Sandy lined up six tin cans. The assortment of lacerated metal graced the fence rail until she took twenty steps backward and began picking them off, one at a time. They flew in every direction except Sandy's. She lost count of the number of times she drew the gun, fired, reloaded, and then retrieved those cans only to do it all over again five minutes later.

Between the blasts of gunshot she heard the grating of old Dodge Town lying in front of her. The remains of the town jabbered as the dry wind passed through the old wooden skeletons stealing the last bit of moisture and making it creak in pain. Only the yellowed grass stood defiant, bending, not breaking.

The town looked like it fought a battle only to loose in the end. She was determined the same would not happen to her.

She needed the practice. Three days laid up at Kitty's was a setback and with Zach Slaughter lurking somewhere in the hidey-holes of Dodge City, she couldn't afford to be either slow or inaccurate with her gun.

If it came to that.

His black eyes, wanting, haunted her dreams, made her flesh crawl with the recollection of being in that room with him. Alone.

Idiocy. Her mother, Kitty, could she ever have been that dull-witted?

She thought not. The regal woman had a sense about her that exuded a deep understanding of the male of the species. Whether that came from experience or innate ability, she didn't know.

Kate knew why she was in this predicament: she was duped because of her own stupidity. And she wanted to win no matter what.

She thought back to the time she left the security of Martha's home and in her mind's eye saw the streetwalkers. They were younger than herself. She'd be damned if she'd give Martha the satisfaction of being a part of her own natural mother's early profession. She would need to be starving for it to come to that.

She had skills. She could read, write, cipher, carry on an intelligent conversation. Better yet, she had the skill of gambling. The nuns at St. Hildegarde's Catholic Day School provided a varied education; her classmates, the daughters of the moneyed owners of the many dens of vice in the French Quarter who followed in the steps of their parents in spite of the threats of hell fire and damnation, provided the necessities of the real world.

She was fortunate. Madam Mary Magdalene, a blue-black crown of thick hair arranged in delicate ringlets about her heart shaped face, saw Kate's need. The Creole woman saw to the demimondaine at the Fleur de Lies while her husband, Peter, ran the downstairs liquor and gambling hall on the corner of St. Anne and Bourbon St. Not one of the biggest places, it did have a reputation for the finest looking house dealers only because they were all female.

The late thirty-something woman took Kate under her wing, provided both a place to stay and work. A curious thing, the woman always looked at Kate as if she were seeing someone else. Kate never bothered to inquire but now she wondered if Mary had known a younger, desperate Kitty.

There was one thing Kate was not allowed to do. Too young. She would not entertain men in the privacy of her upstairs room. Mary read her fear like an open book and Kate responded by worshipping the ground the slight woman walked on. She would simply delight and distract as she separated the patrons from their cash. Either honestly….or not.

It was a good setup until Zach Slaughter crossed her path.

That was three months ago.

She was drawn to the flamboyant way he bought drinks for Peter and Mary, and especially to the way he played poker as if he didn't know what he was doing.

Now, with the benefit of hindsight, she saw his game, saw the obvious. Clearly.

She thought she was so smart when she relieved the ash blonde dealer named Constance. She counted on her innocent face, devoid of heavy makeup, fresh. Used her well-formed attributes as a calculated distraction from her sly hands.

Slaughter, indeed, took notice. But not of her beauty. He saw through her to actions: no body contact with the men seated next to her, faint seconds of shock registering clearly to the lewd comments. They all shouted of her naivety and inexperience.

Cool. Calm. He never dropped a bead of sweat as he lost hand after hand until his chips were a fraction of what he'd had before. Never a bad word.

Only an unwavering smile meant for her alone.

She scarcely noticed the three other men throw in their cards and leave, barely registered the crowd of men and women surrounding the table with great curiosity.

Her money was growing. That was all that mattered. The Fleur de Lies and all its people could disappear but she'd still have her chips.

She was that confident.

Too confident.

Three months into serious reflection she berated herself for her feelings of euphoria over the common sense she'd always displayed before Slaughter graced her table. It was shear folly that lead her neatly into Slaughter's trap.

She still felt the snap as it closed around her.

Zach Slaughter started to win. He trounced hand after hand until she had nothing left but the clothes on her back and a rage hidden behind a pretty smile. She'd met her match.

Those eyes of black ice, lascivious, fed off her rage. The thin bloodless lips formed words that taunted and challenged.

By then it was far too late. Slaughter executed the final part.

She had one thing yet to wager, she heard his placid tenor. He didn't outright ask, to do so would have been crass, but he did look to the 2nd floor. The winner, if it were she, got the pot; the winner, if it were he, got her for one full night. One more hand.

Mary Magdalene broke the silence with a shrill "no"; her paunchy husband touched her arm and nodded a negative; the men made rude comments alluding to the pretty girl's lack of escorts up the stairs; the true serviceable women dealers were split. There was noise and yet there was nothing but Kate and Zach Slaughter.

Kate DuPris had never been with a man and it seemed most everyone in the gambling house knew it. Especially Zach Slaughter.

The if only's still haunted her. If only she'd been smarter; if only she'd not acted out of emotion; if only she'd been willing to turn down the possibility of the big money; if only she'd not underestimated the cold eyed gambler.

One draw each, high card wins. Peter would shuffle and spread the cards.

An ace of hearts.

A king of spades.

Zach Slaughter was the only one smiling. He stood, bowed politely to Peter and Mary before taking Kate's arm and leading her up the red-carpeted stairs. Slowly. His winnings hanging on his arm for all to see.

A lamb to the slaughter; a virgin to the bedding.

His words were soft and gentle with the assurance of a pleasurable entry into womanhood. He had his own special catechism of sensual titillation.

The words he spoke may have been truly soft and gentle but they reverberated like iron on iron inside her head.

She managed a quick glance from the top of the balcony to the sea of faces on the main floor. Mary was white as a corpse and leaning on Peter. The men looked up, not able to hide their jealousy. The girls had expressions that couldn't be disguised by their painted faces. Some of them knew Zach Slaughter.

Intimately.

It got worse.

Behind the closed door of her room, the gambler made three requests. He spoke clearly, slowly, deliberately, creating a mood solely for himself.

Clothes. Off. One piece at a time. Facing him.

Touch. Unbutton. Disrobe. Him.

The third. The worst.

Lie down on the bed.

Feel his hands move over her body; caressing every exposed inch, possessing her with frigid fingers. A course tongue encircling each tender pink nipple. The tug. The striping pain. His groaning with pleasure. The spreading of her legs.

Fear and loathing were great motivators and Slaughter, for all his calculated worldliness, had no idea of the nauseating hatred she felt toward him, no idea of the lengths she'd go to remove herself, intact, from this situation.

A man, confident of himself, in full arousal, let some things go by unnoticed.

Like the speed of a lithe young woman bent on escaping the clutches of a strange and perverted man.

_Now she was thinking. Now she was patient. _

When the moment presented itself, she hit him with a balled fist to his manhood. She heard the scream, the rage, the swearing, the shock, and only wished she'd hit him twice as hard.

Revenge was her's. She took his clothes and ran out of the room. His manhood would recover. Unfortunately. But there were worse things in store for the man with the grandiose sense of himself.

A naked woman, the bellowing of a wounded man; both caused a stir. Kate was taken inside another room; Slaughter was left to yell for help inside the room. The men on the main floor surmised the problem then exploded with a din of laughter.

Even the pricey women joined with the jokes. A naked man was nothing new to these ladies, but a naked man, a braggart, who missed his chance to debauch a slip of a girl, now that was a feast for jesting.

Kate heard the jeers, the cackles.

Zach had no one coming to his aid.

A slick egotistical ladies man got outwitted by a red headed virgin. He'd be the butt of ridicule as long as he stayed in New Orleans. That could be a very long time if he never got fresh clothes.

More threats. She knew they weren't idle ones.

She'd pay. Dearly. He'd chase her to hell if he had to.

And it began. The running. The dodging. The staying ahead of this vengeful and demented man. He almost caught her a couple times. She thought, she hoped, she finally eluded him for good when she took the horse from Springfield to Dodge and transformed herself into a man.

She was wrong. Once again she'd underestimated the tenacity of Zach Slaughter.

All that was in the past but it was for that reason she endured the pain in her side and reset the cans. Sweating from the vivid memories, she knew she'd have no qualms putting a bullet into Zach Slaughter. It was just a matter of time.

She had to. He wouldn't stop any other way.

Between two perfectly executed draws, she heard the braying of a horse. It wasn't the nag she'd hired from the unsuspecting Hank. The hairs on the back of her neck tingled as she turned to see who it was.

Her father, already dismounted, walked toward her. Daddy didn't know Sandy; didn't see him the night Jake Wentworth got lucky in the Long Branch.

"Young fella," the marshal kept his right hand near his gun, "had to come see what was going on over here. Can hear you shooting all the way to Dodge."

"Sorry, Marshal. Didn't think I'd be a bother in this here ghost town."

The marshal glanced over Sandy's shoulder toward the drying bones that once were buildings.

"Must a been something in its hey day, eh?"

"That it was." Matt moved his thumbs to their resting place just inside his gun belt. "Just decided to move Dodge City nearer to the river and the rail line."

A mini twister of Kansas dust swirled between the two. It blew tall and slender then disappeared, leaving the dirt to fall in a heap on the dry ground.

"Say, Marshal, I hear your pretty fast with a gun." She watched the man stiffen.

"Some say that."

"I'd like to see how I measure up. Would you be willing to face off…with empty cylinders of course?"

Sandy didn't wait for the reply. He spun the cylinder slowly until six bullets lay in his hand. He made sure the man saw all six.

"Never had anyone ask me that before." The marshal did likewise until six bullets lay like small grains of silvery rice in the palm of his calloused hand.

Sandy walked away, a good twenty steps, the maximum distance her short barreled gun could be accurate; before turning.

Eyes on each other, blue on blue, gun hands poised and ready, one hand over large, the other small, the two stared at each other like equal predators. An eternity.

In the blinking have an eye, in a split of a second; the beat of a heart; it was over. The big man, stunned, stood with his gun half way out of his worn holster. A moment later came the realization that if there had been real bullets, he'd be lying on the parched ground, adding moisture to the Kansas dust.

Sandy waited, her gun still hovering in the air, still aimed at Matt Dillon's big heart.

"Find out what you needed to know, Sonny?"

"Name's Sandy, Sandy Catton."

As she walked toward him she had no expectation of a long-winded acknowledgement of defeat from the marshal.

"Got no intention of facing you with bullets, Marshal."

Matt put a foot in the stirrup of his saddle. "My experience as a lawman says different." He swung his other long leg over the buckskin gelding and settled into the wide, smooth leather of the seat and looked down at Sandy. "Fast draws like to prove just how good they are to everyone."

The terse lecture continued for one moment longer.

"Don't bring it into my town."

"I won't, Marshal."

Instead of going back the way he came, Matt Dillon headed toward the sun-bleached remnants of Dodge Town. He slowed the horse as he passed the square building with the bars on the windows. He actually stopped in front of the weathered shell of the Long Branch and watched the faded sign boasting 'Russell and Pence, Proprietors', swing back and forth in the hot wind, hanging by one rusted nail.

Sandy wanted to know what was going though her father's mind. Was it the loss of youth? A wrong turn and the changing of the future? Regret? Mortality?

The Long Branch was filling up with the late afternoon and evening crowd. Her back against the solid wall of the stairway, Sandy watched from a round table. If Sam recognized Sandy from three nights ago he hadn't made mention of it, simply dropped off the nickel mug of beer and went his way.

Her mother peered over the balcony railing surveying the crowd. She wore an ebony silk dress with long, filmy sleeves and an equally filmy bodice that culminated in a sequined collar resembling a necklace. An absolutely stunning mix of black with her fair coloring and rusty red hair. Kitty Russell was one beautiful lady. And graceful, as she glided slowly down the stairs.

Kitty drew the attention of every man in the place, including Sam, the wrinkle faced bartender. She made casual conversation, gave pats on the shoulder, and smiled as she worked her way through the assortment of men seated at the tables. Not a one of these men had any idea of what this lady really felt when she sat down next to the young gun-toting gambler with the big hat; no idea what lay behind the red lips of her smile or those bottomless blue eyes.

But Sandy knew.

The measure of respect she gave her mother at this time was extremely high. Not even a pregnancy and a birth had been allowed to sever that alabaster shell and give one clue to what she was going through.

A skill to be admired. A true poker face.

Kitty smiled, made small talk with Sandy, but only Sandy saw the wrath of disapproval in the woman's eyes.

Red tube curls bounced as Kitty abruptly stood up. "Remember what I told you this morning."

"I will."

Sandy had no doubt her mother loved her. Had no doubt her mother was feeling a good measure of discomfort at her being Sandy.

But Kitty didn't know the full story of Kate's problem, the necessity of Sandy.

The Kate inside Sandy felt bad for Kitty.

But not bad enough to change her plans.

A good hour later Zach Slaughter pushed through the Long Branch doors like he owned the place. Fine figure of a man, lean in the hips, broad in the shoulders, tall. The black mustache, waxed to fine points, was as distinctive as his black eyes.

The black Bowler, expensive and clean, complimented the cherry red shirt and the tight fitting black trousers. The holster, polished to a rich deep luster, held a small revolver clearly exposed beneath the short black jacket.

A fine looking man.

But looks held no true measure of the man. Underneath those fine clothes and behind those easy moves, lurked a man who didn't miss a thing that could prove either useful or a challenge. His eyes stopped their searching when he saw the shapely red head in the ebony evening dress.

Sandy wanted to tell her mother to run, wanted to scream at the top of her lungs that a miscreant was stalking her.

But watched in silence instead.

She was selfish, she didn't want to blow her disguise.

Slaughter put his elbows on the bar and leaned toward Kitty. If he'd then extended an invitation, Kitty turned it down because she disappeared through her office door.

Alone.

Her mother was safe.


	12. Chapter 12

8

Kitty

Chapter 12

Standard disclaimers apply.

Striking blue eyes, so deep, clear, full of sparkle. Even the heavy kohl outlining those beautiful peepers couldn't suppress the vitality, the intelligence. The words she'd spoken were few and disappointing to hear but their huskiness intrigued him; made him wish for a private, more intimate encounter. The flame of light coppery hair was a natural crown of curls on top of her head.

The only thing that brought Kitty Russell, Proprietress of the Long Branch, down to the level of everyone else were the barely covered freckles on the bridge of her nose and the backs of her hands. They added to the allure.

Familiar. He'd seen her somewhere before but could not come up with the place.

Zach passed the time with two of the bar maids. They were easy to look at, smiled, and were dressed well. They were more than willing to have him buy them a drink or two and be quite satisfied with that. In that other whiskey mill the girls hustled their bodies with more persuasiveness than the drinks. No doubt there was more money to be made in that area.

PRIVATE.

That word stood like a solid brick wall between him and the redhead. These women only reminded him of the company he really wanted.

He needed a distraction until the pretty lady came out from behind that door.

Gambling.

He ruled out two tables immediately. The one near the window was one shy of full with trail hands but the smell alone drove him away. The other had only four players but three of them looked too anxiously at the stack of chips piled in front of the fourth. He didn't need that kind of trouble.

A lone man wearing a checkered shirt and an oversized wide-brimmed hat sat shuffling a deck of cards like some people hawk with their voice. No cowboy. Too clean. Didn't smell like three-month old shit.

"You planning on wearing the spots off those card, boy?"

"No, sir. Just waitin for the right person to come along and give me his money. You that person?"

Brash. The kid had the audacity to taunt him. This smooth faced boy somewhere between hay and grass was going to get a lesson. And he was a very good teacher.

"Name's Zach Slaughter." He extended his hand to the young man.

"Catton, Sandy Catton."

The impudent fledgling didn't bother with manners, kept his hands on the cards.

The baby-faced kid had a pair of deep blue eyes that matched the looker behind the door, but this one wore his freckles like medals of honor.

"Been in Dodge long?"

Zach seated himself on Catton's right. It gave him a good view of the door that redhead escaped behind.

"Just got in."

Shortly before 10, Kitty reappeared and Zach couldn't keep his eyes off her as she filled mugs and chased them down the bar to waiting hands. Slaughter was slipping; he didn't notice the imposingly tall and broad shouldered man pushing through the doors wearing a U.S. Marshal's badge.

But Sandy did.

Sandy watched the long legged man maneuver his way toward her table.

"Catton, was it?"

Marshal Matt Dillon stood by Sandy's table with a half smile cracking his face.

"Yes, sir. And thanks again for that favor this morning. Did appreciate it."

"I'll bet you did."

There was a touch of something in his voice that didn't match the smile. Before Sandy could respond, the big man was walking between the crowded tables and chairs to the side bar.

The room literally brightened when her mother smiled at her father. Anyone, Sandy thought to herself, who saw those two together had to know there was something more to their relationship than mere friendship.

Kitty Russell had one chink in her façade.

"Well," Kitty greeted Matt, "was hoping you'd find your way in here sometime today."

A cold one materialized and Matt put elbows on the bar and slurped the suds off the top of the beer.

"Kind of surprised you didn't wake me up before you left this morning." She spoke softly, for his ears only, and cast those quick glances between him and the top of the bar in front of her.

"Figured you needed the sleep."

He did his own share of glancing between her and his diminishing beer.

A game they played in public; hoping no one would notice.

"About last night…"

"Yes?"

This time Matt drank the contents of his mug in a long, slow swallow. No hurry. It reminded her of a good portion of what went on the night before. She couldn't stop the smile of satisfaction from overtaking her lips as she savored the heat of last night's intimacies with this man.

"Ah," Matt straightened, shyness about him as he glanced from side to side, and pushed his hat farther back on his head, "maybe we should go in the back and talk."

"O.K. cowboy."

The door no sooner latched behind them and Matt's hands encircled her waist. Possessive. Just like last night. He turned her toward him like the supple, uncontesting piece of flesh that she was at this moment and pressed her against the wall with his big body. She wrapped her arms around his neck and delighted in the feel of him.

"Last night was very nice. You've never been that," she smiled up at him, "ravenous."

"You kept right up with me, Kitty."

The retort came so fast and with it the sting as the heat moved through her body, hot as the noonday sun on a cloudless summer day, to settle on her cheeks. It didn't happen often, but when it did the huge lawman was usually the culprit of her embarrassment.

"I'm not complaining," she backpedaled, working hard to regain her composure, "but what possessed you?"

He stepped back and looked confused. "Kitty, it's not every day a man finds out he's got a beautiful seventeen year old daughter by the woman he loves."

_By the woman he loves._

Did she hear that correctly?

Did he say that word?

The one she'd been waiting to hear for nearly nineteen years?

Now she was red faced and speechless.

And Matt was enjoying it.

"And Kate," he went on after a long stretch of gloating, "was right. I did need to give you some extra attention."

_Extra attention? On Kate's orders?_

Her flushed appearance dissipated as quickly as a burning ember in a rainstorm.

"That little twit."

"Kitty."

"You don't know what she said to me this morning. She can be nasty."

A lock of curly brown hair escaped the confines of his hat as he shook his head. "Maybe you're just not used to being a parent……maybe we're not used to it."

She liked the fact that he included himself. It made his statement about Kate a little more palatable. But she had to have the last word.

"Who was that kid you were talking to? Looks like a gunslinger."

"Darndest thing," he put his arms around Kitty and brought her back into contact with his body. "I heard gunfire in Old Dodge and found this kid shooting at cans."

An interesting story. If it would not have concerned Kate.

"And?"

Matt expelled a grunt of air. "He didn't look like a seasoned gun hand so when he asked me to face him down and he emptied the cylinder of bullets in front of me, I agreed."

His gloating grin was gone.

"Kitty, I didn't even get my gun out of my holster before I saw his trigger hitting that empty chamber."

Matt was clearly stunned.

"Fast as anyone I've ever seen."

Somewhere in those last words, simple as they were, Kitty knew she should feel some measure of comfort. Her daughter outdrew her father. Matt was not slow. Her devilry turned sour and left her with the vision of Kate, once again, lying dead from a bullet. She knew in her heart that it had nothing to do with how fast or how accurate Kate was. It had everything to do with loss. Her loss. She lived with Matt's precarious hold on life, accepted that one day the man's touch would become a precious memory, his words a longed for sound; the ground, his bed, while hers' would be cold as ice.

Her second thought was even worse.

_Like father, like daughter._

"I'll be back later, Kitty."

She wrestled with two things. The man she loved admitted he loved her. Finally. She wanted to linger on his words, enjoy the taste for as long as she could.

But the second thought interfered. Kate made it clear that she wanted no interference from either Matt or herself. Kitty was caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. If she told Matt about Kate's delema, Kate would loose all confidence in her; if she kept Kate's confidence and something happened to Kate, she'd never forgive herself.

Which one would she choose? Matt or Kate.

It took a moment to trade the bad thoughts for another attempt at humor.

She spoke softly, her hand on Matt's clean-shaven face. "You're insatiable, Matt Dillon."

The little boy in the big man's body shrugged those massive shoulders then smirked.

A debate was raging in this man's mind and Kitty knew it. His words were there, the ones that could make her blush a scarlet color. He just never let go of them.

Kitty was jarred from her pensive mood. The dandy was at her side and his mouth was moving.

"Miss Russell, it is miss, is it not?"

"Last time I checked it was." She didn't say it with the intent of being funny. She'd learned her lesson not ten minutes ago.

"You have a very fine establishment here. I do appreciate," he leaned with his back against the bar and pointed out the bare shouldered gals in the short dresses and fishnet stockings either talking to or delivering drinks to the clientele, "that your female employees do not have to engage in the baser lines of work that many of the other saloons in this fine town practice."

It was either the wordiness or the heavy Southern drawl that made it hard for Kitty to keep a straight face. Such a mouthful of pious sincerity.

"Name's.."

"I remember, Mr. Slaughter."

"Zach, please call me Zach. I'm lately of the fine city of New Orleans and I would like to extend an invitation," he brushed his hand across Kitty's as he turned back toward the bar, "to have dinner with me tomorrow night. Your choice of restaurants."

"Mr. Slaughter."

"Zach," he patted her hand, "ma'am."

An accidental brush was one thing. A pat was a condescending gesture. She pulled hand back.

"Zach, I can't. I have a business to run and I need to be here." She used her own New Orleans voice, the one she kept safely hidden from the customers and her friends.

A crackling of displeasure passed as quickly as it had appeared. "Right you are. It was grossly inconsiderate of me to think I could take you from your work. Perhaps," he thought out loud, "I may escort you at a less busy time?"

There was something about the man's voice, an urgency that Kitty didn't quite trust. He may have been smiling but his dark eyes had no warmth.

"That may work," she said, knowing full well she would always have something, anything else to do.

"I will wait most impatiently for that moment, Miss Russell."

The dandy bowed slightly, and then strutted out of the saloon.

Kitty glanced to where Sandy sat. Sandy was watching Zach Slaughter, a feral look in her eye.

Slaughter watched Front Street from his hotel room window. That Kitty was one fine woman; those dark blue eyes, the way the oil lamps caught the lighter flecks in them; she didn't back down, met him straight on; that red hair. She would be a challenge, but he'd have her. After all, he was a very patient man.

Catton came out of the Long Branch and Zach was glad to have something else to focus on. This young man with the curiously familiar eyes did two hard left turns before disappearing into the shadowed alley between the saloon and the mercantile.

Perhaps the boy had needs. Needs that could be met rather inexpensively on the streets off the main one.

Zach made a note to check out that alley. There just might be a back door into that looker red head's bedroom and then he'd show her what a real man could do for her.


	13. Chapter 13

7

Office of Protection

Chapter 13

Spoilers: The Prisoner, Whelan's Men

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply.

"You play a pretty good game of cards, sweetheart." Kitty tried not to be sarcastic but the word sweetheart came out too loud and harsh for it to be taken any other way.

Kate, dressed in a light blue nightdress with flounces of white, looked the image of femininity as she brushed her red gold hair.

"Guess it runs in the family. I hear my granddaddy, Wayne, was quite the gambler on the riverboats. And then," she turned to Kitty, "there's you."

Kitty let the words bounce off remembering Matt's wise words about being new at parenting. And she did bait the girl.

"Doc told me how you saved Daddy's life a time or two by gambling. You even won a prisoner from a bounty hunter." Kate smirked. "Said you're very good at winning."

Kitty wondered just what that last sentence implied. Now who was being baited?

"Doc talks too much."

Kitty took the brush from Kate's hand without any resistance and set it on the table.

"Take some advice?"

Kitty saw Kate stiffen and set her lips in a firm straight line.

"No," Kitty went on, ignoring the obvious body language that spoke volumes, "I suppose you won't."

It wasn't a surprise. Kitty fully remembered her own passage though shortsightedness when she was Kate's age. She knew everything and no one was going to tell her what to do. Advice, given by anyone over twenty years of age, was discarded like yesterday's news. Hindsight and the attainment of thirty-eight years of living, portions of it much harder than it needed to be, told her if she had listened some of those big and costly mistakes might not have happened. But they were her mistakes and she owned them, every last one of them. They made her what she was today. Kate would learn from her own mistakes….if she lived long enough. By God, that child would listen.

"But, honey, I'm gonna give it to you anyway."

She had to move away from Kate's rigid stance, turn her back from the open hostility toward her own good intentions. She peered out the window into the dark alley. It wasn't comforting but at least she didn't have to deal with Kate's scowl.

"Sandy is likely to get shot if he gets caught cheating."

Kitty heard the gasp, could almost see the forming of a response on the girl's lips.

"No matter," Kitty kept talking, "how good he is with a gun. And Kate?" She paused, considering her words carefully before facing her daughter, "I think her daddy might just forbid her to handle cards... just like he did her mother."

Kate's mouth was open in surprise.

"Daddy did that?"

An affirmative nod.

A second passed, Kate's forehead lined in thought.

"And you obeyed?"

Kitty's smile was faint but backed by the pleasant memories of a warm, breathing man as opposed to a cold, dead one. Sometimes she just had to go against his wishes no matter how well intentioned they were.

"Doc never said that."

"Doc doesn't know everything."

"Momma, I already got into trouble in New Orleans."

"You told me that this morning."

"Gambling."

Kitty said nothing; didn't want Kate to stop, didn't want her to continue, either.

"Thought I could cheat him…"

This sounded awfully familiar.

"He was different. Baited me. Took advantage. It was all my fault, I didn't see what was coming…..And there's a lot more."

"He's been following you."

An elusive nod was all Kitty got.

Kitty understood. Only too well. Some males of the human race could not allow a female of the same race to ever overpower them in any way, shape, or form; a power struggle disguised as revenge.

"Is Daddy coming tonight?"

"I don't know, sweetie."

"Can I come sleep in your bed?"

A man with a gun, a soft young woman. Motherhood was surely a trying experience with a daughter like Kate. One moment she was being pushed away by a self-assured individual while the next, this same person wanted the simple physical contact of a mother.

"You sure can."

He kept to the shadows behind the Long Branch. A loading dock with a securely locked door was at street level; a narrow, weatherworn staircase clung to the outside as it rose from the street to a second floor landing and door. He was severely tempted to try the door on the upper level but lights were on in two of the upstairs rooms. Zach Slaughter felt more comfortable under the cover of shadows. Through the partially closed draperies he made out the unmistakable shape of a woman brushing her hair. A pretty sight even if he couldn't make out the color of the hair or the fairness of the face.

Another woman came and embraced the first. When the lights went out he was both puzzled and in desperate need.

Bull Landers charged through the door of Matt Dillon's office at 3:13 a.m. The door swung back and slammed sharply against the corner of the table Matt used to hold a porcelain washbasin and pitcher.

"One 'o my girls got beat something fierce. You gotta do something."

Matt's first instinct was to reach for his gun. Then, as Bull bellowed, Matt woke up and rolled out of the narrow cot and managed to find a match to light the lamp on the table.

Seeing Bull was worse than hearing him. A massively thick neck separated his head from his shoulders and now that neck bore two bulging purple blood vessels.

"Where is she?" Matt pulled on his boots and reached for his gun belt. "She say who did it?"

"No. This guy," Bull paced the small office, bumping into the table and causing the lamp to teeter on its round base, "cost me plenty. Gona take time till those bruises heal up. You gotta do something."

"Where is she?"

Simple Sally's face was a black and blue pulp. Her eyes were swollen shut and her nose was pushed to the side. Doc Adam's daubed the open abrasions and concentrated on the old soiled dove's face rather than the shamelessly low cut dress that didn't cover as much as it should have.

Never saw his face; didn't know where it happened except that it was in the dark; never said but two words.

He had a nice package down below; his hands where real soft when he wasn't beating her with his fists.

All this, mingled with slurred speech, the beating, and the amount of alcohol in her system made the situation an exercise in futility.

She didn't do anything wrong. Just doing her job pleasuring him. The man's only two words: lie still. Old habits die hard, she couldn't be still enough. That's when he started hitting. She made him mad. Funny, she brushed her hand across a wet spot on her dress; he didn't spill his seed inside her. Never went there at all. Left it on her belly.

"Bull," Matt spoke in a quiet, confidential tone after Sally mumbled her way through her story, "this isn't enough of a description to arrest anybody. Didn't any of your other girls see anything?"

"Aw, Marshal, you know Sally's long past her prime."

Matt cast a quick glance toward the small woman sitting unsteadily on Doc's examining table. Fortunately, the aging woman was oblivious to Bull's callous words.

"Got her hawking out front. Anybody could come and ask for a ride and no body inside'd be the wiser. She goes real cheap."

"Ya, and Sally too drunk to recognize a bad waddy."

The impasse between the stocky saloon owner and the slim marshal took only a few seconds.

"You just might want to tell your other girls to be more careful, Bull."

Bull turned heal and stomped out of Doc's office slamming the door behind him so hard the framed certificates on the walls rattled along with the window panes.

Matt could hear the man muttering all the way down the steps about worthless lawmen.

"What do you think, Doc?"

Doc brushed his hand across his mustache very slowly as he sat down on his desk chair.

"Well, Matt, any man that could do this….the beating's bad enough, but that happens. It's the other, putting it on her stomach." He shook his head. "I got a feelin and it ain't a good one."

Matt agreed. "I know two women that are gona hear about this right now." He looked out Doc's window to Kitty's room across the alley.

"Good. Good idea, Matt. I just don't like the feel of this."

Kitty felt someone tap her shoulder then grab hold and gently shake her. The nice dream about a tall, handsome cowboy faded away.

A whisper. "Kitty, gotta talk to you."

The voice belonged to that good-looking cowboy.

"Matt?" She reached out and touched his stubbly chin. "Kate's here with me, not tonight."

"No. No. It's something else."

"What?"

"You didn't hear me unlock the door or come in here, did you?"

This was no dream.

"One of Bull Lander's girls got roughed up real bad tonight. Did something real odd. Doc and I think more women might be in danger."

"I'll tell my girls tomorrow."

"Kitty, I'm telling you, now. You and Kate need to be real careful."

She touched Matt's cheek once again. She knew one way to be safe for the remainder of the night but Kate was occupying Matt's spot in her bed.

"I want you to prop a chair against all the doors inside these rooms. Understand?"

Matt took her hand in his and kissed her palm.

"Please.

The urgency in his voice was real.

"O.K. cowboy. I will."


	14. Chapter 14

8

Confession

Chapter 14

Disclaimers: Standard disclaimers apply.

Kate listened to the words Kitty said as she sat on the unmade bed, hands folded and ankles crossed. Safety procedures. Explained not once but three times and each time with increasing amplitude. It didn't take a lot of intelligence to hear that Kitty was worried.

"Was the whore a red head?" Kate asked only when Kitty paused to take a breath before beginning the fourth tirade.

Kitty must have thought the question a bit odd because she cocked her head to one side and knitted her thin red eyebrows together. "Ya, she was."

Kate resigned herself and said, "I need to talk to Daddy."

Kate, all auburn curls shiny and splashing down to the middle of her back, passed Kitty on the way to the door. She kicked the propped chair, the one underneath the doorknob, aside. She was happy that she'd chosen to put on shoes. She ignored her mother's cries as she rushed onto the balcony.

Newly was talking with Sam and both men looked up to see her. The young man had a warm smile and gleam in his dark eyes when he met her at the foot of the stairs.

"Miss Kate."

His smile was captivating.

"Didn't see you yesterday."

"I was busy." Those words were too sharp.

In truth, Newly did see her yesterday. He just didn't know it. She'd seen him scan the interior of the Long Branch, talk with Sam and Kitty, and have a beer. Newly O'Brian didn't gamble, didn't meet Sandy.

"I was wondering," he took his big tan hat off his dark head of hair and held it in his hands. "If you'd like to go on a picnic with me this afternoon. Know a place not far from here where we can catch some fish."

He was a very nice young man. Very unusual among the many she'd met in the last few months. He wasn't interested in getting her clothes off.

"And we could take Lilith for a run."

"I'm sorry, Newly." She had to say it. "I've got other plans."

She watched him shrink then slowly recover.

"Maybe tomorrow? Right now I need to see the marshal."

"I'll walk with you."

The smile crept back into the deputy's lips as she grasped his arm with her hands.

There she was! His elusive prize. Still so pretty, that long luscious red hair that he wanted to put his face into, have drape over his naked body.

He clenched his teeth and pounded on the windowsill with a balled fist to see her on the arm of another man. Smiling. Talking.

He felt great sadness when she went out of his view.

Zach's mind rambled. At first they seemed like random thoughts. The two women, embracing in the upstairs bedroom of the Long Branch; Kate coming out of the Long Branch; the vivacious owner of the Long Branch with that rich head of hair and those deep blue eyes; and Sandy, the young gambler with red eyebrows and deep blue eyes.

"Newly…."

"I know, you need to talk to the Marshal alone."

"You're not very nice to him, Kate," Matt Dillon stood in the middle of his office with his hands in his pockets.

She acknowledged her guilt by staring at the floor for a second.

"Momma says that beat up whore was a red head."

"Ya." He held the same knitted eyebrows and cocked head as her mother.

She ran toward the Marshal and jumped to wrap her arms around his neck, leaving her feet to dangle a foot off the floor. For a short bit of time only her arms kept her from plunging down to the floor.

"I'm the reason she got beat up."

The little missy spent forty long minutes in the marshal's office. He followed her and that impudent young man until they disappeared inside the brick building. The young man came out quickly, not a happy expression on his boyish face.

His lucre agonizingly out of sight, he walked at a discreet distance behind the dark haired boy until he, too, disappeared behind a door.

Newly O'Brian, Gunsmith 

The letters, carved neatly into a light colored solid plank of oak, were stained a darker shade to stand out. A great amount of meticulous effort went into the making of that sign.

"Can I help you?"

This Newly O'Brian was standing behind the counter with a spread of firing pins and cleaning oil.

"Are you the owner?" Zach forced himself to be polite. He really wanted to slit this man's throat but not before cutting off the offensive hands that had touched his Kate. But that wouldn't be wise. In broad daylight.

"Yes, sir. I'm Newly O'Brian."

The upstart had the audacity to expect him to shake his repulsive hand.

"I'd like to purchase a small weapon, a Derringer."

Zach didn't need another gun but he did need an excuse for being in O'Brian's gun shop. Pity, he looked around the small room, seeing the small kegs of gunpowder and boxes of various sized bullets, if all this would accidentally catch fire……

His transaction complete, he went back to his hotel room and watched as a few minutes later, the lofty giant of a marshal escorted Kate back to the saloon. These two touched. It angered him at first until he saw that it was not like the touch of lovers; not like that other young Newly with the dark hair who played a subtle game of seduction.

The image of the saloon owner, red headed Kitty Russell, popped back into his head. She and Kate could be sisters……..or……….mother and daughter.

The eyes of the young gambler.

Another plan, even more enticing than his original one, began to take shape. It was going to be a very good night and he had a lot of work to do to get ready for it.

Zach pranced through the solid paneled doors of the Long Branch at close to 9 p.m. He made eye contact with each of the bar maids, confident with his earlier decision to omit these ladies from his plan of keeping the best dang marshal and his hillbilly deputy busy until the women he wanted were safely in his hands. He didn't pity the erring sisters, chosen from the cheap saloons on the opposite side of the tracks. He'd always found that shiftless bums with access to ardent spirits and wanton women were a great combination for trouble. And trouble was exactly what he needed. Lots of it.

O'Brian proved a much easier target than he'd expected. This philanderer was bound and gagged and securely hidden in the storage room of his poor excuse for a shop. He did allow a candle with about two and a half hours of burn time to light the man's fate. When the candle melted to nothing it would ignite a pile of gunpowder, enough to cause a stir and get rid of that man for good. And best of all, Newly O'Brian would have all that time to reflect on who and why it was he had to die.

He was looking forward to that sound. Even better, he would make a point of telling Kate all about it.

Sandy, as per the previous night, warmed the seat next to the stairs. But this time four men, each wearing Levi's with turned up pant legs and rough spun, colorless shirts, sat with the young gambler. All wore gun belts.

Zach idly chatted with a girl or two as he worked his way to the bar. A glass of whiskey in his hand, he finally sat on the only empty chair at Sandy's table.

He made sure to look extra closely into those dazzling night blue eyes of Sandy the Gambler. But it was Kate's immaculate features that were marred by a muscle spasm just under her right eye.

Good.

Very good.

Shortly after 10 p.m. a silver haired man walked through the entry of the saloon.

The noisy men and women fell into an eerie and sudden hush.

Kitty slipped in front of the man before he could put a foot on the main floor.

"Been wonderin when you were gonna show up." Kitty stood straight, looked up at him with a steady and unblinking stare.

Samuel Emerson Wentworth was an imposing man. Once. But years of letting his son, Jake, do the physical labor of the Lucky Sue Ranch took its tole. No one could ever take old man Wentworth for a violent soul. His body and rounded calf eyes were just too soft.

"Been a shock to me, Miss Russell, loosin my boy Jake."

Kitty's stance softened a bit. "I really am sorry about that, Sam."

Two younger men crowded behind him on the landing. One whispered in Sam's ear and gestured with a pointed finger toward the young gambler with the big hat and solid blue shirt.

"Miss Kitty," Sam took off his sweat-stained hat and held it in his hands, "I don't mean to start any trouble, just want to talk to that young fella what killed my boy."

There wasn't a trace of anger in the words Wentworth spoke but they still carried to every nook and cranny of the saloon.

"You looking for me?" Sandy stood up.

Just a hint of perplexity passed over Sam's well-fleshed face.

"I am, son."

Wentworth's two cohorts made a show of putting their hands inside their gun belts.

"You took my boy's life." Sam's voice cracked and a pregnant moment of silence passed by.

"Those boys tell you what happened?" Sandy nodded to the two cowpokes as he worked his way between tables crowded with men, closer to Sam. He kept his hands wrapped around the glossy black leather belt buckled around his waist.

"They did. But I want to," he took another shaky breath, "I need to hear it from you."

"Your boy was full as a tick and on the shoot. This place was a lot more crowded that night and that wasn't a good thing. Not for me, anyway." Sandy kept her voice low and calm. "A drunk on my right stumbled into me, I lost my balance and my beer spilled on Jake."

There wasn't a clang of glass or the slapping of cards to compete with the sound of Kate's rapid breathing.

"Then he grabbed me by the shirt and threatened to knock the piss out of me. I said I was sorry, even offered to buy him a drink or two."

"And I ordered him out of the place," Kitty interrupted, her bar owner voice sharp and overly loud. "Told him to sleep it off."

Then Kitty looked accusingly at the sidemen. "But your boys here couldn't keep him out of trouble either."

"He came back later," Sandy continued, "I didn't have time to duck or run. He called me out and his hand was goin for his gun. I didn't have a choice, mister."

Wentworth studied a speck of errant brown spittle on the gritty floor with his head just high enough so everyone could see the sorrow reflected in his face.

"That's the way I heard it," his brown calf eyes were watery when he looked at Sandy again. "My boy, he was a nasty drunk, saw it in him from early on."

Sam put his hat on and was turning to leave but paused midway to look at Sandy.

"Sorry about your getting shot."

"And I'm really sorry about Jake."

"So am I, boy, so am I. Thanks for your time."

Everyone inside the saloon breathed a collective sigh of relief when Wentworth and his side kicks where on the other side of the swinging doors.

The noise of men, the clanking of glasses, and the laughing of the girls returned to full volume just as suddenly as it had disappeared.

Life went on.

"So," Zach Slaughter snickered when Sandy returned to the table, "that thing's not just for decoration."

The vixen was creative. Not only could she disguise herself as a man, she was also quite handy with a man's weapon.

Sandy picked up his winnings. "Just don't feel like playin any more."

"Understandable, young man. Perhaps tomorrow night?"

Zach watched Sandy leave then got up himself with the excuse to the remaining card players that he needed to talk with Sandy for a moment.

He followed, turned three hard lefts to see sandy climbing the narrow back staircase of the Long Branch. She'd outsmarted him more than once and he wasn't about to let that happen again. Right now he wanted her safely tucked away in her room.


	15. Chapter 15

8

Shift In Time

Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply.

"I hear you had a run in with Wentworth and his boys."

Matt Dillon had both hands flat on the bar as he talked to the red headed bar owner.

"It was nothing. Sam just wanted to get some things straight from the horse's mouth."

"I'd still like to meet that horse. You know, I've never met this fella that's really not a fella."

He had that appealing half-smile plastered across his face.

Kitty debated. This strong man had, indeed, met and shared an experience with his daughter in that form. He'd be just as amazed as she at that transformation. Or was it deception?

"He left."

"So if I go upstairs now, I wouldn't see him?"

"That's right, cowboy. You'd see a pretty girl."

The comfortably familiar noise within the saloon stopped with the sound of rapidly fired bullets in the street.

Matt apologized for having to leave. He didn't utter one word aloud; his eyes said it all, the remorse, and the necessity.

"You stay in a crowd of people, Kitty. Later."

She smiled at him, watched him walk out of the saloon into the night air. She didn't want a crowd of people; she wanted and needed only one person. The man, Matt Dillon.

Zach Slaughter watched the interaction of the lady saloonkeeper and the marshal; enjoyed the big man being called away by the sound of trouble. His plan was starting to take shape.

Dodge City had its dregs of society just like every other place he'd visited. These people would do most anything for money or a bottle of tonsil varnish. Some would even kill.

Vices and people, they served his benefit.

He watched the pretty woman as she washed and dried the glasses. There was a security born of habit in those actions. But she was too beautiful, too refined, to be standing behind that bar doing menial labor. She belonged on his arm to be shown to the rest of the world as a living example of Zach Slaughter's ability to attract and keep a woman. And later, in private….Well, he dreamed on, all those jealous men could just wonder about that.

Zach Slaughter dallied on his way to the bar much like a cat stalking a mouse or a bird. He never once took his eyes off her yet he never bumped into an empty table or dislodged a chair.

Kitty felt the hairs on the back of her neck come to attention.

"Miss Russell."

"Mr. Slaughter."

Kitty closed out the tinny vibrating strings of the piano and the few voices that had the mistaken idea they could sing. Her concentration was on Zach Slaughter.

And his exclusive attention was focused on her as if he was waiting for a gesture, an expression. Something. Anything.

"I would like you to accompany me on a midnight stroll," he made his eyes twinkle. "I hear the stars in this beautiful wide open Kansas sky are a delight to behold."

"Mr. Slaughter," she held her smile as she put down the towel and came around to the side bar, "I have so much bookwork to do tonight. I'm sorry."

She wondered if he could see that no trace of sorrow lay behind her words or smile, only a definite NO.

"Pretty lady," he moved closer, taking in a slow but distinct breath of air as if inhaling her very essence, "you do try my patience."

Did he notice her reaction? The squinting of her eyelids, the slight raising of her chin?

He slipped his right hand inside his jacket and palmed a dainty Derringer. He pointed the short barrel at the deep cleft between her breasts.

"About that stroll."

No one in the mostly empty saloon was paying Zach or herself any attention. Sam, back toward her and Zach, disappeared down the basement steps with a box of empties on his shoulder; the piano player and his choir were as oblivious as the drunks lying with their heads down on the tables.

Her last and most desperate look was toward the swinging doors. She willed the appearance of Matt or Festus.

Zach was grinning.

"Let's go behind that door that says PRIVATE."

She heard him close the door; the metal latch sounding every bit like a key in a jail cell door.

"Move."

The hallway never seemed so long, the doorway to the alley so far.

"It's never happened," Zach leaned over and whispered in her ear, "that I get two."

Their footfalls were hollow scuffles on the bare wood floor. An empty sound.

"And a mother and daughter at that."

Kitty froze.

"You must have been a babe yourself when you had her."

Zach took that moment to sniff her hair. "I mean that as a compliment, Miss Russell."

"Where're you taking me?"

"Got a place a couple streets over. Fixed a room for us. Quiet. Nice and cozy."

They stood on the landing dock until he urged her, once again, to start moving.

"Just what do you want, mister?" She found her voice, hoped it was strong enough to show she wasn't afraid, but heard the quiver of fear.

"Hear that?"

Shouts, gunfire, breaking glass, and screams came from the main streets of town.

Then he looked down at her.

"Do you know that those pale flecks in your eyes catch the light of this street lamp? Makes you look like you've got streaks of lightening in those dark eyes of yours."

He was going to brush his left hand across her cheek but she turned away.

"Your little Kate hasn't told you all about me?"

"I've got money. I'll pay you to leave her alone."

"I thought she would have told you. I wonder if you got the whole story. This way."

This alley was lit only by the thin rays of the moon. The whole story? She probably hadn't gotten it all, Kate was stingy with details.

"Miss Kitty, there's no amount of money in this world enough to keep me from Kate."

She chanced a quick glance at Zach. He was wearing a jubilant smile as if he'd won a great victory.

"Just look at that sky, so velvety black. And those stars. I hope you've enjoyed this stroll as much as I have, Miss Russell. In here."

Just enough light shone into the lobby of the old Poppy Hotel to make it evident that no furniture existed to block their path. Abandoned years ago, it stank of dust and mice.

"I can assure you that this will be the most distasteful room in this building."

"I doubt that," Kitty muttered.

"I couldn't help but wonder if you'd been a part of this place years ago. In your profession, you might have been paid to accompany wealthy gentlemen up these stairs and behind those doors."

She kept her mouth shut as she climbed the stairs.

"Miss Russell,"

She almost screamed.

"Do you make love as slowly and intentionally as you climb these stairs?"

She wanted to turn around and slap him silly then take that pretty little gun of his and jam it in his mouth and pull the trigger.

"In here."

Room 10, the zero on the door was lying on its side.

A fiery red glow escaped into the hall as he guided her into the room.

"I took the liberty of pasting that glorious red wallpaper back on the walls, the sheets are clean, the bed spreads. Two beds. Two women. I thought that was appropriate. Don't you just love how those white spreads glow that lusty pink."?

She only noticed the boarded up window, the lack of curtains. It might as well have been bars.

She wished she'd taken the chance and stopped him back on the stairs.

He did forget to congratulate himself on the round, cloth-covered table with the vase of fresh summer flowers, the tall lamp with the crimson chimney, the bottle of bourbon and three glasses neatly arrange in front of the chairs.

"I must say," he took off his hat and set it on the table, "that I did find your behavior with that old rancher and his cronies to be rather stimulating."

She didn't want to hear him anymore.

"But then, you were protecting Kate."

She'd had enough.

"Shut," she whirled around and leveled a hard slap across his smirking face, "up!"

"I knew you were a fighter, Miss Kitty."

He rubbed his face as if enjoying the residual touch of her hand. But he was blocking her passage to the door.

"You crazy son of a bitch, let me out of here."

He leaned against the door, totally relaxed.

"You're probably right on that account."

His demeanor changed. The man that walked toward her was different. The smile was gone. The giddy lighthearted step was now heavy, determined. She backed up until she hit the far wall. He was standing right in front of her.

He grabbed her arm and pushed her onto the bed and straddled her hips between his legs.

She bucked like a wild bronc even though she knew he'd keep his seat, used her arms to push at him. There was a wild glow in his eyes that chilled her to the core.

He rolled her onto her stomach and used a length of soft cloth, lying across the metal foot of the bed, to tie her hands behind her back.

"Soon." He breathed across the bare skin of her neck.

He pulled three pins from her hair and loosened the strands of red gold, slowly, savoring the feel of the heavy lengths between his fingers.

"You said I was crazy."

He toyed with the myriad of tiny buttons that held the back of her dress together, circled each one, then moved on to the next until he was at the small of her back.

His touch was repulsive but she was completely restrained from doing anything.

"I am. Crazy to possess you." He nudged his thumbs together, undid the top two fasteners and slid his right hand under the silky fabric to caress her smooth, bare skin. "Did I ever tell you that I just adore red heads? The hair, the soft white flesh."

He let his hands drift along the material of her dress as he dismounted.

"As much as I'd like to stay and get better acquainted, I do need to get a pretty little filly with a penchant for dressing as a man. I'm so sorry I have to do this to you, Miss Kitty," he let a hand rest on her firm behind, "but I simply will not abide the chance that you'll escape."

He bound her ankles, lingering afterward on her stocking covered calves. He stuffed a clean white handerkerchief with the red embroidered initials ZHS into her mouth, then used another length of cloth to keep it in place.

He stood back and admired his handiwork.

Or was it the pleasure of seeing her, his victim, in a totally helplessness state.

She only thought of Kate.

"Be ever so good, Miss Kitty, the party will start when I get back with Kate."


	16. Chapter 16

11

Kate's Revenge

Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply.

The dark corners of the alley hid his body and helped settle his anticipation as he watched and waited for his intended victim to appear in the upstairs window.

He knew where Kate got her good looks. That was easy. But he couldn't help but wonder about the father. Women in Kitty's line of work knew how to take precautions and, should those precautions fail, to excise their marketable bodies of the seed growing inside them. Kitty Russell appeared too smart to bear anything but a love child and that's why he wanted, no, he needed to know.

Slaughter impatiently tossed a small stone at the lighted window and slipped into the brightness when Kate appeared. As he fully expected, she put out all the lamps. Five minutes passed. He was certain she was frantically searching the closed and darkened saloon for her mother. He could imagine the desperate words, the breathless panic.

The exact opposite of what he felt.

Her search was futile. Both of them. Kitty was nowhere to be found with in the Long Branch; her father was not in his office and she didn't know where to look for him.

She had more than a reasonable amount of fear. The only part of her plan that hadn't been squelched was the small Derringer she had tucked deeply within the valley of her breasts.

It would still work out.

The second floor door opened and Kate came out to stand on the landing.

"Where is she?"

All woman now, she tentatively descended the narrow stairs. But each one of her steps brought her closer to him. He liked her much better now, dressed in a simple but fashionable skirt and blouse. The blouse was cut low and hung off one shoulder exposing a lot of skin.

No place for a gun in that outfit, he rationalized.

"You're mother is waiting for you."

He enjoyed for the second time tonight, a big-eyed reaction to his words.

"There's no body to help you, Kate."

She took the last step and stood on the dirt, not three feet from him.

"That marshal friend of yours is real busy and that Newly O'Brian," he watched for her reaction, "is about to meet his maker."

Just like her mother, she bore the impact of his words on her pretty face for only an instant.

"You know what I'm here for."

No response. He hadn't expected one.

"I'm going to collect interest on that debt you owe me. Think on that while we walk."

"Matthew," Festus wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, "I'm worried 'bout Newly."

"So am I. It's just not like him to disappear when there's trouble," the Marshal leaned against the post of a streetlight and let his shoulders collapse. "You said you checked his place?"

"Yes, sir. Not a light on, doors is all locked up tight."

"Hmmmm."

"Spect we should go take a closer look see?"

Another breathy sigh of weariness preceded the words, "I'm right behind you."

Dillon broke the pane of glass nearest the doorknob, pushed the short flounce of curtains aside, and reached in and turned the lock.

A distinct aroma greeted them. Burning candle and melting wax. But no flame visible.

"Check the back room, Festus, I'll get this one."

Matt turned the knob on the door just behind Newly's work counter. A small flame gave just enough light for Matt to see the trussed up figure of Newly O'Brian.

His first instinct was to take the gag off the deputy until he saw the young man's terror-stricken nod to the candle.

The candle sat only a fraction of an inch atop a two-inch pile of black powder. Gunpowder.

"Festus!"

Matt picked up the burning candle with a bare hand and pinched the flame with his thumb and two fingers.

"His name's Zach Slaughter. Said he was punishing me because of Kate." Newly massaged his cramped legs and arms. "He's strange, really strange."

"I gotta go check on Kate and Kitty." Matt turned his back to the two men and sprinted, as best he could, toward the Long Branch.

Kate.

He swore under his breath.

There was more to her story but she wouldn't tell him, never said who or how far this Zach Slaughter would go.

He hoped that small Derringer was enough for that girl to fend off a man who'd just about achieved a murder?

Silly Sally.

The perfect timing of all these street brawls.

He cursed himself for not seeing the pattern.

Matt Dillon felt the increasing waves of discomfort in the pit of his stomach. The Long Branch was dark. He took the back steps four at a time, oblivious to the pain in his right leg; his fear was much worse. The door was slightly ajar.

He called out as he sprinted down the hall, wanting, demanding, to hear a reply.

Silence.

Except for the thudding of his heart.

The two rooms were empty.

Cold and still.

She sparked when she saw her mother trussed hand and foot with a gag in her mouth. Balled fists and flailing arms turned on him. Not much power behind the blows, after all, she was female.

"I'm the one you want, you bastard. Let Kitty go."

Tears the size of small pearls rolled down her cheeks. Her gut was eating itself with anxiety and, better yet, guilt. He liked that.

Zach grabbed her wrists and squeezed them until she flinched. He wanted a visual reaction to the physical pain that he, himself, caused.

"You can take the gag off her."

He pushed her backward just as he let go and she stumbled against the metal frame of the bed.

Zach almost shed a few tears watching the slender Kate gently untie the strip of cloth that held her mother's gag in place. Almost. The two sets of blue eyes intent on doing him great bodily harm kept him well grounded.

He paused, listened; realized he hadn't heard the sound of O'Brian being blown to smithereens. No, he rationalized everything was going well. Nothing could go wrong tonight.

"I am so delighted to have two lovely ladies grace my boudoir."

They shared the same indignant stare. The same quiet defiance.

"You both know what I intend to do."

He let those words fall like a court-rendered decision.

"I'm so glad, Kate, that you waited for me. I promise to be gentle."

"I know what you did to that whore."

Kate's voice didn't have the huskiness of her mother's. It did have an angry high- pitched hateful ring.

"Don't tell me you know how to be gentle."

"Let me explain. That woman simply would not follow my directive. I was paying for her services. What is a man, experienced in what he wants, supposed to do?"

He played the innocent. It worked, sometimes.

"Slaughter, listen to me," Kitty screamed. "You can have all the money I've got. I'm not poor. You can even have the Long Branch. Just let us go."

The uncontrolled pallor of alarm made him puff out his chest with pleasure.

"He's crazy, Momma." Kate squared her shoulders and stood tall. "No amount of money will buy him off."

"Hmm, Kate. You are very astute. Money," he pulled back his lips, showed his clenched teeth, "will not satisfy me. Not after what you did to me."

He poured a deep glassful of bourbon. Anger was building inside him and he knew that it threatened his plan. He needed to see some more pain from these women, that would make his mood lighten.

"When you hear an explosion, that worthless deputy slash gunsmith will be blown to hell. That's what happens when you fancy another man, Kate."

"Newly's just a friend."

He didn't believe that for a second. He knew how men thought, knew what they wanted, and the games they played to get it. She may have thought him only a friend, Newly O'Brian had different ideas.

"What does it matter, sweet Kate, he's a dead man."

The opportunity existed for more pain and he didn't have to think twice about inflicting it.

"Your daughter is a pretty good gambler but she has a tendency to play unwisely when she gets behind."

He took off his white jacket, the women following his actions closely as he removed the shoulder harness and the black handled Derringer that occupied the sheath. He laid the hardware on the table next to the flowers and the bourbon.

"She doesn't like to loose. I'll tell you," he looked at Kitty despite the fact she didn't seem interested in finding out just what this big secret was, "just what she owes me.

"Having nothing else, no money, no jewelry, and yet hoping for that big win," he took his time, slowed the pace of the words that came out of his mouth to show off his flare for the dramatic, "I couldn't help but give her a suggestion."

Kate's haughty air melted away.

"Her maidenhead."

It took a while before Kitty grasped the meaning of his litany, "That's what this is about?"

He let the tension increase, enjoying the mother giving the daughter an incredulous, but thankfully, silent, glare.

"Would you like to explain the rest of it?" Zach couldn't control himself any longer. He let the sudden deepness of his voice set a much different, harsher, tone.

"Your daughter," menacing, "is quite a resourceful young woman. I've been tracking her ever since," he forced himself to breath, letting the vivid memory of what she'd done crash over him, "she tricked me."

He put his hands on Kate, pulled her close and searched the blue depths of her eyes.

"As I was about to fully enjoy her," his hoarse whisper tearing at his throat, "she struck me in a most sensitive area then grabbed all my clothes and left me in that room with nothing but unspent passion."

He shoved Kate backwards and she landed on the other bed with a rattle of rusty springs.

"I was," he hesitated, trying to find the correct words to describe his moment of discomfort, "most thoroughly embarrassed and unquestionably the object of much gossip as I had to get a working woman's attention with only a bed sheet to cover my ample manhood."

He reached for the same strip of cloth that had once held the gag on the mother, wrapped the ends around the fingers of both hands and pulled it taught.

"But she'll not give me any trouble this time because," patted Kitty's shoulder while leering at Kate, "I'll rough up your mother. And Miss kitty, if you attempt any foolishness, I will show no hesitation in putting some bruises on Kate's delightful face."

They were exactly where he wanted them. Both knew what he was capable of in the black and blue department, and even in the murder area too.

Kate sat still as a statue as he bound first one hand than the other. He left just enough cloth for her to worry, but not enough to reach her mother or him, as he tied the remaining end to the metal head stead. She didn't respond to his gentle touch or his forced soft smile. Too deep in her own thought. Guilt. He could do a lot with guilt.

The object of his attention securely bound, he sat on the chair and finished his drink. It took a great deal of skill acquiring these women without anyone being the wiser. Perfect planning.

He still listened for that explosion.

"I cannot help but wonder, Miss Kate, if your mother knows who your father is?"

Kate gave no visible reaction.

No, he thought, neither one would give up that information, even if they knew it. He unbuttoned the top four buttons of his pale blue shirt as he walked to where the mother lay, bound hand and foot. Her lips where a bloodless pink but those eyes of hers still held the promise of a fight.

He untied her ankles then moved to her wrists.

"You do remember what I said, one of you acts up, and the other gets the punishment."

He had to take in Kate's reaction to his words. He stood over her like an executioner, gloating, until he felt a strong blow to his back. He fell foreword onto Kate's bed, recovered and bounced back to his feet only to take another balled fisted punch his stomach from Kitty. That was when he felt another from behind. Kate and her loose feet.

The women worked well together.

He had to give them credit for that.

But he also had to, and wanted to, follow through on his word.

The hard slap across the face he gave the mother sent her reeling to the floor in a crumpled heap of dark blue sateen and red hair.

He smacked Kate hard enough for blood to trickle from her nose. He didn't want to mar that face but they pushed him into it. Just like all the rest of the women in his life. They never did what he told them.

"I told you," he pointed a finger at Kitty, "what I'd do."

He watched with great interest as Kitty used the bed's metal frame to help her to a standing position.

"Undo the rest of your hair," he ordered.

Kitty hesitated only long enough to see the thick trail of blood coursing down Kate's upper lip and then down the side of her chin before she took four long pins holding the remaining bit of hair in place.

He held out his hand and waited until all four pins where in his palm then threw them on the table.

"I repeat, I would like the name of Kate's father."

"Go to hell."

"As you wish." He cast a quick glance at Kate, "time for the lessons to begin."

He grasped Kitty's wrist with one hand while blocking a blow from her free hand.

"You're not going to make this difficult are you?" He pushed her back until she was flush against the wall, his body holding her there, and brushed his tongue across her cheek.

"You're crazy."

"You said that before."

Her body was a glorious mass of softness and hard muscle just waiting to explode. He could feel it. The tension. The power. He wanted that final burst of energy to be when their bodies where joined. This woman couldn't be wasted like all those other over used bitches. This one he would have. And then the daughter.

Like a spring wound too tight, the devious red head shoved into him until he stumbled, backwards, onto her bed.

Agile much more than he gave her credit for, she leaped for the gun lying on the table. She almost made it. He caught her around the waist, turned her full circle and landed another slap to her jaw. This one was much harder than the first one.

"I warned you, that's twice now."

Zach tossed Kitty aside and picked up his gun and aimed it at Kate. A nick to her arm would settle them down. Show his seriousness, his attention to detail.

Without taking his eyes off the mother, he asked, "Are you watching Kate? I think your momma finally gets the idea."

Then he turned his attentions to Kate.

His attitude of pompous superiority sloughed away.

In spite of the short tether, in spite of not having any place to conceal a weapon, Kate DuPris held a Derringer in her hand and it was aimed right at his heart.

"Drop your gun, you insane piece of shit."

He didn't know Kate could speak so roughly. Thoughts. Running rapidly through his panicked brain. A movement. The mother was trying to stand up.

He grabbed Kitty, held her in front of him. A shield. His gun aimed at Kitty's temple.

"I don't think so, sweetheart."

_Where was that explosion?_

"Now you drop your gun or your momma is dead."

_These women, why weren't they like all the other hapless red heads. No backbone._

The sharp jab of an elbow to his ribs stunned him just long enough for Kitty to get her hands on the gun. Somewhere she'd found a new strength of purpose as they did the dance of possession.

The music stopped when the gun when off, a noise softened by the flesh it entered, and the Russell woman slumped against him and slowly crumpled to the floor.

Long enough for the delectably resourceful Kate to seal his fate.

Ice cold. Sharp. But clear water didn't drip down between his eyes. Hot, thick blood. Red. The room went dark as if someone slowly dimmed the lights. Black.

His knees gave way under his weight and all his great plans came up to greet him.


	17. Chapter 17

2

Contrition

Chapter 17

Standard disclaimers apply.

Kate felt the burn in her throat, knew she'd screamed long. Hard.

Slaughter was dead, wouldn't give her, Kitty, or other women any more trouble. Ever. His eyes mirrored the surprise of his last seconds. Still open. Unblinking.

Kitty lay on her side. A slight motion of breathing. Blood spread slowly toward Kate like a flood of guilt. Kitty's blood.

_Not Kitty._

Momma.

A man's voice. From somewhere.

She cried with as much force as she could until Matt Dillon burst into the room.

The chaos within the red walls overwhelmed him.

Confusion. First.

Realization. Kate tied to a bed with her hands holding the small gun he'd given her earlier that morning.

Unconstrained horror at seeing Kitty, his Kitty, lying in a pool of blood and a man with a hole, slowly oozing blood, between his eyes.

"Daddy..I."

Festus and Newly followed the marshal into the well-lit room.

Was it the shock seeing the carnage or the fact that Kate just called Matt _daddy_ that for a moment in time caused a reaction.

Kate watched Matt kneel next to Kitty, slowly turn her on her back, feel a colorless cheek with his big hand, grimace.

"Kitty."

All the emotion he felt was expressed in that one word. Love. Anguish. Pain. Fear.

He scooped her mother into his arms and carried her out the door.

Festus checked the dead man.

Newly took the gun from her hand before cutting the binding strips.

"Kate."

She heard him but looked at the empty doorway, her mother and father somewhere beyond.

"Kate."

She knew Newly was close, turned to him.

"S..she," barely a whisper came from the brutalized flesh of her vocal cords, "she kept me from getting shot. W..why'd she do that?"

Gentle hands urged her to stand, to escape the decimation.

"C'mon, we need to get you over to Doc's. Kitty, your mother, will be there."HaHH


	18. Chapter 18

4

Epilogue

Spoilers: Kitty's Love Affair, Patricia, Sam McTavish, M.D., Odd Man Out

Disclaimers: Standard disclaimers apply.

The sun was a blazing sunflower ball suspended in the cloudless Kansas sky. Surrounded by cottonwood trees next to the slow moving river, Matt Dillon, Kate DuPris, Doc Adams, Festus Haggen, Newly O'Brian, and Sam Noonen stood around the open grave as the minister spoke the final words.

Newly looked first at Matt then at Kate before he tossed a handful of clay into the hole. It rang with a hollow thud; totally unlike the life that was enclosed within that box. He worried about Kate. He knew grief; Patricia's death had been hard even with the knowledge it was going to happen. Kate would suffer much worse from the loss of her mother. In a sense it was her fault but Kate didn't understand, fully, why Kitty took that bullet in her place. Over time, he knew Matt would help her see that.

Matt was not so easy to figure. Too quiet, to private, his grief might drive him out of Dodge, away from the constant reminders of Kitty's presence.

As if that would help.

Festus, reddened eyes and with a fresh cloudburst of tears streaming down his bristly cheeks, paused for a long time at the brink of the grave. He didn't want to let loose of the clod of Kansas he held in his hand. He thought of the words Mr. Jonas had for Corley Deems' reaction to his wife's death. _It's a shame what happens when some men loose their woman._

He'd be there to help.

And that Kate, she'd be a reason for Matthew to go on.

He tossed the dirt along with a barely heard goodbye and walked after Newly.

Sam didn't feel so tall; he knew his shoulders were slumped down.

"Best boss I ever had."

No one else would really care like she did.

He walked away with short steps.

A gentle breeze caused the leaves to murmur a rustling dirge for the remaining three people.

Doc sniffed, swiped his mustache, and then looked at Kate and Matt from the opposite side of the grave. He struggled with his feelings. He expected to mourn his friend Matt, had practiced the stoic face he'd have to put on when it happened. But Kitty, his friend, his love, lay in that grave instead of Matt.

Kate. He didn't want Kate. He wanted Kitty; the woman with feelings so deep, understandings so uncanny.

He didn't feel the least bit of remorse.

But he'd never speak his true thoughts to another living soul. He would tell Sam. Dr. Sam would agree with him when he tossed back a bit of brandy on those lonely nights.

He held the clod in his hand and stared at the wooden coffin, three small piles of clay already on the lid, took a ragged breath and embraced the reality.

"I'm so sorry," Kate whimpered, her head buried in her father's chest, "it shouldn't have happened this way."

Matt put his arms around Kate and held her close.

"It should be me down there."

He had to force himself to speak.

"Oh, no, Kate. Your mother did everything she could to keep you safe. She did it from the day you were born," he fought the catch in his heart, "to the day she died."

He recalled the words he said to Cyrus Tucker, remembered his own lack of understanding at the way Tucker handled his wife's death. _The man needed to face it, not_ _ignore it. Not be driven slowly insane with loss._

_God, he was hollow back then._

"She protected you with her life."

_Move on; accept the reality_, he'd told the old man.

Eighteen years of living, respecting, sharing, crying. Loving.

Kitty was gone. He held her until she was cold and then didn't want to let her go. Hoped beyond reason that she'd warm, start breathing; flash that beautiful smile at him. Call him her _cowboy._

Before him. He never planned for this, never crossed his mind that he would be the one left to mourn.

It would be easy to pretend she was off somewhere shopping for those ghastly hats and dresses, visiting friends. That she would return.

But she wouldn't. Ever.

She was right here, five feet below him. And in his heart. Always.

"But," Kate sputtered through her sobs, "she didn't have to."

"Kate, she didn't see any other way. She loved you that much."

Cyrus Tucker didn't have what he had, a lifeline pulling him back to the world of the living.

Kate. She had so much to learn about who her mother was, the real person behind the beautiful body and face.

He shuddered. He'd only feel her in his dreams. He prayed he would sleep well and soundly.

Dodge City was never going to be the same. He'd never be the same.

"C'mon. Now it's my turn." Matt stated his words softly as he led his daughter away from the grave of the only woman he ever loved.


	19. Chapter 19

3

Happy Epilogue

Spoilers: Kitty Shot, Hostage

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine but I love them.

Doc held Kitty's hand, his thumb on the pulsing vein of her wrist. He didn't let it show, but he was elated that it beat strong and steady. He hadn't given Kitty a snow ball's chance in hell of survival when Matt brought her in, soaked in her own blood, barely breathing, the color of impending death. But that was a week ago.

Now she lay in her own bed, in her own room over the Long Branch, surrounded by himself, Matt, and Kate. He knew what he did to bring her though. He prayed for a steady hand as he worked on the beautiful lady he'd come to love and admire. Matt and Kate teamed together to talk to her, never gave up a moment of silence but encouraged her, begged her to live.

She must have heard those pleadings.

God definitely heard his.

Kitty lived.

She would carry the remembrance of three bullets for the rest of her life. The first came as an accident; the second because she was Matt Dillon's woman and vengeance compelled Bonner to shoot her in the back; and this one, taken to save the life of her daughter at the expense of her own.

He harbored feelings for Kate and he hoped he could keep them from breaking through the surface. _If she'd only told Matt. The whole story. Not the little bit that did no good._

"Now I don 't want you two to tire her out." He gave Matt and Kate a stern, doctorly warning along with the look. "She needs rest, a lot of it."

He trundled toward the door, hat and coat tossed over an arm.

"Mind what I say."

"Kitty."

Matt held her hand.

"I was so afraid we were going to loose you."

_We._ Kitty looked from Matt to Kate. Those two had grown closer in the past week. They told her Zach was dead, Kate's doing, a bullet between the eyes. She still needed to reason that one out, the fact that Kate had a gun. She remembered the burning of the bullet she took; looking at Kate touching shoulders with her father made her remember why.

Matt was so at ease with Kate. _Birds of a feather._ Kate was so at ease with him; she wasn't oozing charm, she was being herself. The child had grown up, a lot.

"Ya know, Kate, I never did see you in your man outfit." Matt gave his squirrelly little half smile to Kate.

Kitty and Kate matched eyes. Kitty gave a subtle nod and Kate disappeared into her room.

When Kate returned she had on a big hat, her hair stuffed underneath it, a plain shirt, a pair of dungarees, and a shiny black belt around her waist along with a gun in the sheath.

"Pleased to meet you, Marshal. I'm Sandy, Sandy Catton."

The impish grin pealed off Matt's face to be replaced by a wide-eyed, open-mouthed bewilderment.

When he recovered, he turned to Kitty.

"You mean I got…."

Kitty nodded to the affirmative. "Yes, you got beat by your own daughter."

Poor Matt.

Kate returned to her room and closed the door; her parents needed some time alone. Her Daddy had a way of masking his true feelings but that night when he burst in on that awful scene and saw Kitty lying in her own blood, he was raw and open and bleeding himself. There were times in Doc's office when she held his hand, held Kitty's, and she hoped her strength would flow through the man who was so upset that his eyes watered,

his breath caught, and his hands shook, but who still kept talking, begging for Kitty to live. Her father would have survived Kitty's death. But he wouldn't be alive.

It was all her fault. She pushed too hard, could have lost everything.

She had a lot to make up for.

A mother to get to know, really know. A mother who took the bullet rather than let Kate stand the consequences of her foolish actions; a father who she took after in many more ways than one.

Her mother would need some help around the Long Branch, Kate could do that.

Kate wondered if her Daddy needed some help around the office.


End file.
